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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563074">Darkest Shards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aschermer/pseuds/Aschermer'>Aschermer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bloodsong Trilogy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captivity, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Bond, Mental Breakdown, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tentacles, Unhealthy Relationships, half the story is flashbacks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>118,154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aschermer/pseuds/Aschermer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Valerie Redmont has spent the last seventy-five years fighting to stop Earth from falling to otherworldly invaders who seek to bring humanity to its knees. </p><p>When a call from her former mentor brings her to the remote town of Westmont, Valerie suspects that trouble will be waiting for her there. Trouble takes on the face of Jack Aramis, the nephew and heir of one of Earth’s most prominent slave traders – and Valerie’s best and only friend, once upon a time. Before she learned that he’d gone into the family business. Before she learned that he wanted more than friendship from her.</p><p>Having never accepted Valerie’s decision to cut him out of her life, Jack is determined to make her his forever, irrespective of her opinion on the subject. And while he fights for dominance and she fights to retain a measure of sanity, the secret war between worlds is dragged into the open, ensuring that however it ends, one of them will wind up on the losing side.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bloodsong Trilogy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Old Enemies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is an old work that was previously posted here but which never got finished. I'm having a second go at trying to make that happen. Many thanks to Clare for betaing and for being generally wonderful.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>From afar, Westmont looked as it did in Valerie’s memory: a small human town nestled between desert and coastline, connected to the world at large by a single lane road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a good road. Ill maintained, with enough holes to make it reminiscent of Swiss cheese. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>WelcometoWestmonthaveanicestay</span>
  </em>
  <span> sign, turned from the wooden plaque it had been fifteen years ago into a hulking PVC monstrosity, loomed ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time Valerie had set foot in Westmont she’d been twenty years old and looked twenty years old. When she’d left, aged eighty-ish, she had still looked twenty years old. Even now, the only wrinkles her forehead displayed were owed to the frown etching between her brows as the distance between her rental jeep and the town shrank. There might come a day when she’d stare in the mirror and spot her first gray, but that would take thousands of years, and odds were good that she’d be dead before then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t know how to feel about returning.</span>
</p><p><span>On one hand, she’d see Mrs. Drakma for the first time in ages, as well as everyone from her old Liberation Front section. On the other hand, it was unlikely that she’d been summoned to catch up on life and bake biscuits. Mrs. Drakma’s phone call had been hurried and sparse on details. Her once-upon-a-time mentor hadn’t even stated</span> <span>why</span> <span>Valerie’s presence was required.</span></p><p>
  <span>The possibilities were admittedly limited. It was Westmont. All problems concerning the place could be sourced to a fabric of nightmares buried deep underground, a red-haired mistress of evil with magic dancing at her fingertips, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Him, who Valerie couldn’t yet bring herself to dwell on, the prospect likely to make her heartsick too early. She’d cross that bridge eventually. Although she’d much rather not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything seemed quiet. Westmont’s layout remained as when she’d left, and also the same as when she’d first arrived. Only tiny changes betrayed that time had passed; new storefronts, and a smoother road once one entered the town proper. The 1940’s also hadn’t been big on satellite dishes and traffic lights. Or traffic in general, although in the interest of fairness, nowadays there still wasn’t enough of it on the road to get on her nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, in that exact moment there was barely any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, her rental was the only car in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, that had been the case for the past three minutes, and continued to be the case when, some distance ahead, the main road funneled into Bolster Street, the start of what passed for the shopping district. It was Saturday. They held open markets on Saturdays – used to, should still, ‘twas tradition, the street ought to mill with people and stalls. Instead it presented a chaotic picture, and one bare of intelligent life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie slammed her foot on the brake and called Mrs. Drakma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It went straight to voicemail. She called the Westmont section headquarters. Likewise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a knot growing larger and larger in her throat, Valerie resumed driving until she could park somewhere unobtrusive, snatched her main weapon bag from the passenger seat and armed herself with everything that wasn’t too awkward to lug around — knives, semi-automatic rifle, satchel with ammunition, plus the dagger she already carried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She proceeded on foot, keeping to the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that she wouldn’t like what she’d find as she ventured ahead,</span>
  <em>
    <span> and yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever had done . . . whatever had been done, they’d made more of a mess in this area. The street was littered with trash and assorted wreckage; cups and plates and cans of soda left on empty tables, torn vehicles dotting the road, overflowing shopping carts scattered at random. There was . . . yes, that was a dead body over by the lamppost. Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie made a beeline for it and rolled it over. Human, male, Caucasian, old, overweight, reeking. He’d been dead for a while. Strangled, judging by the blotchy black band around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Great. Just . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>great. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was halfway through processing the sight and what it meant when she heard them. In her head rather than through her ears, a primal part of her vibrating in acknowledgement and involuntary greeting, the jumble of their discordant blood songs reaching her before she heard the footsteps, before she heard the shout.</span>
</p><p><em><span>“</span></em><span>Redmont</span> <span>YOU CUM SUCKING BITCH!”</span></p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t bother to turn, dropping on all fours to dodge the first bullet and the salvo that followed. She rolled onto the sidewalk, ducked behind a trash can, disengaged the safety catch on the rifle and shot. A scream and abundant swearing ensued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No way to tell if it was a kill. She’d hit the heart, but often that made no difference. Her attackers, two or three of them at least, judging by the cacophony in her head, were Tsikalayan; topped by few species in the bitch-to-kill department. Which, since they shared a taxonomic rank, worked in her favor as much as it did against her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to pick their melodies apart, wanting to isolate one that rang familiar. The leader of the group saved her the effort by shouting further abuse. His voice was one Valerie recognized, far more memorable than the tune of that which Tsikalayans had no name for and humans would call his soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“–SMASH YOUR WHORE MOUTH UNTIL–”</span>
</p><p><span>Sykes. Billy fucking Sykes.</span> <span>A mercenary, whose chief claim to fame lay in having been banished from Barashi, his – their</span> <span>– homeworld, for assaulting his half-sister. Getting away with rape might be dirt easy over there, but incest was another matter, which made Sykes an exceptional case of the High Council doing something right.</span></p><p>
  <span>What was that waste of facial hair doing back on Earth? Was he working at the Mayfly, had Marabeth hired him again after the fiasco in New York? Surely not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU CHOKE ON MY HARD, FAT–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, Valerie found it unlikely that Sykes would be in town without the endorsement of the head bitch in charge. He had five men with him, all armed to the teeth. Only three made her skull noisy. Decent odds, depending on which species the silent pair belonged to and on whether the Tsikalayans had acquired silver immunity. Sykes she knew was immune, but he was also an incompetent, lazy, lily-livered pussy who would assign the fighting to the others unless left with no other choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get her! Go get me that slut!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Case in point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were almost on top of her she dove behind a truck. From there she ran into the supermarket, veering around collapsed shelves, shopping carts, rotten produce and oddly bent bodies. Yet more shooting stalked her progress, forcing her to return fire. She sighed. It wasn’t that she hated being what she was, but when ninety nine percent of one’s species was comprised of unmitigated fuck-faces . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone – if it had been Sykes she’d smack herself later – landed a hit on her arm. It stung, more than it would have with bullets made of lead or steel. Valerie cursed but shrugged it off. It had taken effort, pain and stabbing herself in the foot a hundred times, but these days silver bullets were only slightly more annoying than regular ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Come to think of it, how had Sykes ever built up immunity? He didn’t strike her as someone who would willingly self-inflict the amount of damage necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the cumulative effect of however many times others had knifed him throughout the years had done the trick. He did have an eminently stabbable personality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hit her feet, idiots! Make the bitch trip!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie fought the urge to roll her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get ya, Redmont! Run as fast as you like, you’ll be pissing blood for weeks! Begging us to gobble up our cum, just like your bitch of a boss did!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was lying. Mrs. Drakma was thousands of years old. Had spent two thirds of that long, long life making herself a nuisance to people crueler, stronger and smarter than Billy Sykes. He wouldn’t be running around blustering if they’d crossed paths. Their encounter would have consisted of a brief lecture followed by slow vivisection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wherever she was, Mrs. Drakma was fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be screaming my fucking name, Redmont!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie threw a shopping cart at his head and made for the staff door. Beyond, the floor was lousy with wrappers, crushed chips, fallen plaster and blood. In places, chunks of brick had been ripped from the wall. There were two bodies: an elderly woman and a man whose right leg stopped at the knee, a fact divorced from the events leading to his death, judging by the relative lack of blood and presence of a cane. Old, disabled or otherwise lacking in fitness – a pattern emerged in the bodies she’d found so far. It was a familiar, but far from pleasing one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sykes’ cursing grew louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie moved along, squeezing through the back window and pondering how to dispose of her pursuers. Best that she get off the street, where she risked them rushing her all at once. She could try riddling them with bullets until they slowed down enough for her to approach and finish off with the dagger, but there were too many. Too many chances for the situation to escape her control. Dispatching them one on one would require moving to more favorable ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced around, then up. She smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nearest building was fifteen stories tall. The front door, open. She took the elevator to the top floor and sped through the first door she found, bypassing a dead homeowner and arriving at a balcony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifted her hand and started climbing, stabbing the wall with her claws to lever herself up. Once she reached the roof she picked a spot, replaced the empty magazine, took aim and waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later another clawed hand appeared, grasping at the ledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shot thrice; one bullet in the head for the first man who made it to the top, one bullet in the hand for the one hanging not far behind, one for the man waiting on the balcony. The last one ducked inside just in time, but two out of three wasn’t bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sykes yelled abuse as the bodies pancaked on the street. Then he yelled at his remaining men to retreat. A misdirection. They’d gone looking for a safer way up. Best to be elsewhere when they found it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nearest building was a seventy foot gap of nothingness away. Tricky, but doable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie retreated to gain momentum and ran for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made it by a hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next piece of cannon fodder to rise above the ledge was the pair of unknown species, and they first spent a moment looking around in bewilderment before one spotted her. Now that she could take a better look at them, she noticed the radioactive green sheen of their eyes. Sorals. Shape-shifters, weak healing factor, much better used as spies than as muscle. She couldn’t have asked for better luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie waved. Then she shot them dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two left now, including Sykes. He’d be the biggest challenge, despite being a rotten coward. His egomania and fear of being upstaged meant he always picked cronies weaker than himself. However, being that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a rotten coward, would he dare face her without them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie prayed that he would. She wasn’t keen on wasting time chasing after him if he ran off to call for backup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A seaweed green tentacle shot into view, burrowing into the concrete. That wasn’t Sykes – his true form, she recalled, was more on the turquoise/lime spectrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When her newest opponent emerged, she pegged him as fresh out of the gate. His skin was tanned gold by a sun much hotter than Earth’s, and he had yet to learn how to dress to blend in with the human population. She cringed at the long, loose pants, patterned waist bandage and flowing, knee length layer of dyed cotton. Was this the current fashion on Barashi? Praised be the gods unresting, was the place ever going downhill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shed the draping with a grand, sweeping gesture and let it fall, bullfighter-style. Nine tentacles exploded from his back, joining the one already out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie only stared, mortified beyond what words could express.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It figured. Just when you convinced yourself you couldn’t be made more ashamed of your species, something like this inflated showboat would come along and prove you wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sykes, having gathered the nerve to join them, landed scowling, his thin face contorting with hatred, his lips curling to flash double rows of triangular teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie scowled right back and emptied the rifle in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You bitch!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sykes cried, patting the holes as if dusting them off would make them vanish. She ignored him, busy reloading. “This jacket was new!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get her, boss!” Mr. Showboat announced, not in English but thickly accented Barashnik. Valerie couldn’t pin down the island. In the last fifty years she’d heard her native tongue so seldom that she’d lost the ability to discern its subtleties. The only speakers with whom she held exchanges not limited to ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Die, whore!</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ were Mrs. Drakma, who had so much Earth over her accent that she might as well be speaking Mandarin, and . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. She wouldn’t let her thoughts go to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> even now, lest they summon the bastard. If the gods were good, he’d be out of town doing something horrible on his horrible aunt’s behalf, and this mess would be done and dealt with before they crossed paths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d rather dance with Sykes. Sykes wasn’t much of a dancer. Heavily prone to stumbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie cleared the rifle and slung it over her shoulder, trading it for the dagger. Its blade was red silver – askara, the proper name for the metal, was seldom used in speech. Being one of the few substances capable of stopping a Tsikalayan’s healing factor, the usage of weapons forged from it was restricted to religious rites and mating ceremonies since time immemorial. She had swiped hers from the Georgetown chapter of the Venerable Temple of Tugol, God of Produce and Poultry. Their High Priest had been part of a human trafficking ring spanning half of South America, and he wouldn’t miss it, since she’d left him propped on a crucible with his innards hanging halfway down to his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a very, very nice dagger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, it turned out that she wouldn’t have to rely on it, because Mr. Showboat’s attempt to ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>get her’</span>
  </em>
  <span> was flat out amazing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In its stupidity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had taken it as given that, since seventy feet was some distance and ten tentacles weighed a ton, he’d shift them back before making the leap. Even Sykes uttered a grunt of disbelief when, spitting in the face of logic and physics, his underling propelled himself forward without bothering to shift or make a running start. He made it only a handful of feet before the jump turned into a downward arc, dropping like a stone without so much as grazing the adjoining building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, hands down, the most ridiculous thing Valerie had seen all year. She had to lift her fingers to her lips to muffle her helpless snickering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sykes skipped towards the ledge, glared at the man lying whimpering below and cupped his hands around his mouth to ensure his shouting made it to street level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU USELESS SPROUT OF A CUMGUZZLING FUCKHEAD!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t be too hard on him. He just made my day!” Her call forced Sykes’ attention back on her. He stepped back. Not retreating, but preparing for a proper jump. That was unexpected. Either she’d overestimated his paucity of guts or underestimated the magnitude of his loathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>make your day. You just wait for me to wipe that smile off your face, you . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie extended her arm, curled her fingers to her palm and left her smile where it belonged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sykes shifted his tentacles away. She watched him, calculating where he’d land. When they collided, she became a blur. Time meant everything; if she allowed him to change to his true form again, their confrontation would be drawn out and draining. She needed to get him well and good before he manifested a single tentacle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her free arm caught him under the armpit. She spun him around and to the ground. He tried to headbutt her. She kneed him in the groin. As he howled, she brought the knife up, thrust downwards and brought it back, slicing him open from neck to navel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The howling quieted. Sykes’ mouth formed an almost comical O as he looked down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sister says hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, she hadn’t heard from Amadea in twenty years and had no clue where the girl even was these days, but she had given her word that should she ever get Sykes in this position, those were the words she’d say. She tilted his chin up; held his dazed gaze, moved one hand to each of his ears, twisted his head clean off, tossed it away, sheathed the dagger and kicked the corpse off the roof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was that, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie sat down. From here up high she’d see who came after her long before they saw her, so she could afford some time to think. There was no point in attempting to contact the Westmont section again. If they – </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods, no, please – </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t all dead, they were bound to be busy. She called the St. Louis section headquarters instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone went </span>
  <em>
    <span>beep beep beep </span>
  </em>
  <span>against her ear. Then it went </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie lowered her hand and made a face at the screen. Black and blank, until it lit up, the light extending beyond any natural brightness and burning incandescent. She tossed the thing away, scrambling back. A fraction of a second later a whirl of coruscating red mist darkened every inch of concrete within a three foot radius, and the phone exploded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t avert her eyes in time to avoid being blinded. She sat in a daze, blinking away tears, ears ringing and sight suffused with kaleidoscopic patterns, for an entire minute before the smoke faded away to reveal the half-melted, half-exploded remains. The red mist dissolved within seconds, but she’d needed only a moment to know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magic. A widespread, long-ranging spell rather than a focused attack by a nearby magician, or they’d have taken her out in the minute she’d spent stunned. She scanned the rooftops, only breathing easier once it became apparent that she was well and truly alone. Magic users were her least favorite people to tangle with. Her own preternatural aptitude was on par with that of a bundle of dried celery, and evading offensive spellwork until the caster ran out of juice was tedious and took ages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shook her head, raised a hand to her heart and reevaluated what she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, thank the gods that she hadn’t kept the phone at her ear. A head bursting open like an overripe tomato was more than her healing factor could handle. Second, she now had an answer to the question she had hitherto been too preoccupied to ponder: how had Westmont been overtaken what looked like days ago with no one being the wiser?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The odds of no one posting on Twitter as it all went down were nil, but judging by the sad fate of her phone, it seemed depressingly likely that someone had attempted it and hashtag died trying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered what kind of magic could –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hum of another blood song, this time an achingly familiar one, one she recognized without pausing to think, overlaid Valerie’s musings. She jumped to her feet, too quickly, too much like she’d been spooked. Then, having sucked in a shaky breath, she forced herself to rotate and faced the figure standing at the far end of the roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been there a moment ago. She wouldn’t have missed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had his hands in his pockets and his head tilted, a hint of a smile playing on the sharp, mocking line of his lips as he came closer, making his tune fill her head as though it meant to make itself at home there. Even after so many years – going on twenty five now, so wasn’t it an aberration that the wound still felt fresh? – Valerie had to wrestle herself to quell the urge to let it in. Those same notes had reverberated through her skull so many times before, to say ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>here is your best friend, your family, here is someone who means the world to you, here is safety, here is home’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Funny. The melody hadn’t changed one note. She could sing along if she felt inclined. Yet nowadays, whenever Jack Aramis’ blood song welled up inside her, it said such different things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How in darkness did you find me this fast?” She kept her voice flat. Emotion was wasted on him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jack. Once someone she had cherished, now everything loathsome under the sun packed in a handsome man with too many strings attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t laid eyes on him since Morozovsk, two years, one month, nine days ago. It had been a quick encounter. Mostly she’d fought his goons – well, Marabeth’s goons. Jack had shown up after she’d given her pilot leave to take off. He’d lassoed the helicopter, whereupon she had shot him in the head. Short and sweet. Would that she could keep all their interactions that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one wouldn’t go like that, she could already tell.</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Hello to you too, </span></em><span>Val. How have you been?” His stance was relaxed. He didn’t appear</span> <span>to have climbed up looking to start a fight, but the trench coat made her twitch. A well-worn, charcoal gray piece, too heavy for the July weather – then again, Jack was forever complaining about Earth being cold – and so long that it could hide anything in terms of weapons. Did it? “See, this is how you start a conversation. You’re welcome.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have humans you should be hunting down?” The white hot knots in her throat unwound, allowing spite to seep into her words. “I see that things have been busy around here. What happened? It isn’t Her Horridness’ style to shit on her own doorstep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And truly, it wasn’t. The fact hadn’t occurred to her before, but staging a full-scale takeover of a populated earthen area was out of character for the hell-hag in question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> it being Westmont. For a town that served as the primary base of one of the most notorious slave export businesses active on Earth, there were few reports of people vanishing within its limits. Valerie had long suspected that Marabeth enjoyed the irony of having the only humans with nothing to fear from her be the ones living atop her lair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack made a face like he’d swallowed something sour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Marabeth is dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . come again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dead. Deceased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He did sound serious, and now that she looked properly, he appeared worn, wan, imbued with a sense of heaviness that would make sense if he were indeed grieving. But it couldn’t be true. Marabeth Aramis was </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>enemy. If they were in a play, she’d be the wicked witch meant to be defeated in the third act. It felt . . . wrong, somehow, to hear that she’d died off-screen. “Aunt Briseis hit her in the back with a rocket launcher and dropped a church on her. There was barely enough left to cremate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mrs. Drakma </span>
  </em>
  <span>finally got her?” Valerie blurted out. Jack’s mouth twisted into an ugly scowl. There’d been a time when she would have apologized for being insensitive. Presently, his harrowed expression was a cue to double down. “I suppose it would be in terrible taste if I started singing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ding Dong, the Witch Is Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The bitterness — no, the pain — in his voice almost moved her. Almost. Because, like the ass he was, Jack had to squash any burgeoning sympathy by adding: “Aunt Briseis will die for this. Even if she weren’t a traitor, a blood crime is a blood crime, and you know how easy the Council </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> go on those. The only reason I haven’t sent her to Barashi yet is that I needed her to get you to come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was. The last bit of the puzzle that, what with one reveal after another derailing her, Valerie had not yet placed. The phone call. It had been a trap. And Mrs. Drakma would never have agreed to lure her to Westmont of her own volition, which meant . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any elation brought by the news of Marabeth’s demise fled like air from a deflating balloon. The possibility that Sykes hadn’t lied loomed bloodcurdling and frighteningly plausible. Marabeth had been a steaming pit of rot shaped like a humorless middle-aged woman. Nevertheless, there’d been lines that she wouldn’t cross when it came to family, and Mrs. Drakma was her sister. True, a sister with whom she had a millennia old feud, who had attempted to destroy her countless times and now at last succeeded, but still her sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack, in contrast, had despised his renegade aunt for the entire length of his adult life. Marabeth had been his mother in all senses save for having birthed him. Given a chance, he’d have tossed Mrs. Drakma to Sykes out of pettiness alone. Factoring in revenge, plus a need to ensure cooperation that wouldn’t otherwise be forthcoming . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods, let him not notice that she stood on the verge of shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What. Did. You. Do.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shrugged, unperturbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. I didn’t have to. She was surprisingly biddable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lie. Sykes claimed that he–” She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t get her tongue to wrap around it. Her face spelled out what went unsaid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack had the gall to laugh, and in that moment, Valerie hated his guts. It remained jarring to have that emotion burst forth in relation to him. Although with how hard he worked to get it to emerge, it really, really ought to have become normal by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wouldn’t foist Billy’s dick on</span>
  <em>
    <span> her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There wouldn’t be enough bleach to get the mental image out of my head.” A pause, while he waited for her nonverbal admittance that yes, fine, that much was plausible, even believable. “Besides, you care about that walking train wreck, so I have been . . . restrained. Though I won’t say I might not have hinted that refusing to call you would result in–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. Don’t talk. Not a word.” The corners of his eyes crinkled, and all Valerie could think about was how historically, Jack had shown no qualms about unleashing Sykes on so many girls who had become corpses. Then again, those had been human. She shouldn’t expect him to factor</span>
  <em>
    <span> cattle</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the equation. “You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>kill her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. Weren’t you listening? I’m turning her over to the High Council.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To answer for a blood crime, for which the sentence is death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not always</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Although, yes, in this situation her head rolling is a foregone conclusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt ill. She felt like breaking all of his teeth and pushing him off the roof. She took a shuddering breath she didn’t bother to soften, thoughts full of snapshots of a head flying down a dais in a shower of crimson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then in what way is that different from killing her yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s plenty different.” His smile was blinding and insufferable. “They can’t charge </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a blood crime if I dispose of that bleating harpy by letting the proper legal channels handle her, for one. Which is convenient, as I’m not willing to go through that again just for the fleeting satisfaction of wringing her neck myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regardless. You won’t be handing her over to anyone. The nearest gate to Barashi is in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Canada</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and if you think for one hot second that I won’t employ every resource at my disposal to ensure that you never get there–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no resources. And the nearest gate to Barashi is currently located at the Mayfly, in what used to be the staff kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The-</span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a world gate in the staff kitchen,” Jack repeated, as if genuinely believing that she hadn’t heard him. “It was meant to open in a corner of the packaging facility, but Aunt Marabeth got her calculations wrong. Strange that you didn’t know about it yet. How long have you been in town for again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less than an hour, but long enough to loathe my stay,” Valerie bit out. He gaped at her, but she ignored him. There was a tight feeling in her chest that she identified as the cusp of a panic attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The secrets of gatemanship, of world binding, were supposedly lost to time. Some gates remained functional, relics of an age when her species still flourished on Old Tsikala, when the Four Great Isles had yet to rise from the Barashi seabed. They were few and exhaustively monitored, especially in unconquered worlds such as Earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Marabeth had cracked gatemanship, if that knowledge hadn’t become ash along with her, if wild gates started cropping up, there’d be chaos. If the lords of the High Council got hold of the secrets and turned gates into tools to aid in their quest for expansion . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would mean war. For Earth, if not immediately, then surely eventually. Worlds like Cynihe, which had shaken five hundred years of Tsikalayan oppression by destroying the gates connecting them to Barashi, would be helpless against the tide of invaders. So would many others. Kaldiciperia had been moving towards rebellion like Cynihe had, but now it might be best if they never made it that far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a disaster waiting in the wings, and Jack had been moving his mouth at her for closing in on a minute, and she hadn’t heard a word, catching only the tail end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She groaned. It was, of all things, a lecture on the utter rudeness of her being late to his trap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span> . . . necessary when planes exist! </span>
  </em>
  <span>I, here thinking you’d smelled a rat, but no, you decided to </span>
  <em>
    <span>drive across half the country </span>
  </em>
  <span>for whatever reason–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try boarding a plane with enough unlicensed weapons to start your own banana republic, see how well that works.” Even as she snarled at him, realizing her idiocy stung; Mrs. Drakma had dissuaded her from hitching a ride with the Front’s magic users. Valerie had interpreted it as her presence not being required instantly, and so she’d taken her time, made a stop in Omaha to help Roarke et al handle an Ennead turf war, and all the while . . . “What about the rest of the Westmont Front section? The–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s enough of all of that.” Jack waved an impatient hand, shaking his head and stepping forward. Valerie tensed, ready to spring away at the first sudden move, which appeared to amuse him more than it concerned him. “I didn’t bring you here to talk shop. I’d like to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods above, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she mouthed in the privacy of her thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not this shit again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>’.” One would expect that two and a half decades would be time enough to learn to look him in the eye and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> as dispassionate as she looked whilst saying those words. “I have nothing more to say to you on that subject, and there is nothing you can tell me that I haven’t heard a hundred times, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why do you even still try?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really, truly don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks to me like this will be a conversation best had over coffee. Come. My treat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie took a deep, steadying breath and begged the gods for serenity and patience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack,” she began, dragging every letter. “No. Can you hear yourself? Do you see where we are standing in relation to one another? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I will not entertain you and have yet another long, pointless conversation about the mess that is our past. Furthermore, everyone you could buy me coffee from has been killed or enslaved, something which </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>are directly responsible for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep in mind that it was Aunt Marabeth who –”</span>
</p><p><span>“Even if</span> <span>the takeover was her doing, you have been in charge at least since you made Mrs. Drakma call me. Now, how many people did you ship to Barashi since then?” She sucked in a breath.</span><em><span> ‘Calm, reasoned, steady,’</span></em><span> went her inner mantra, but it was hard, so hard, when her rage left her ready to spit. “I’m not going to sit down and drink coffee with you. You can call yourself lucky if I let you </span><em><span>live</span></em><span> when this is over.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“If you’re afraid I’ll hurt you, you don’t need to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not – look, sincerely, fuck off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, a suspended quietness while Jack blithely deleted the fact that she’d sworn at him from his own personal reality.</span>
</p><p><span>Valerie sometimes wondered what their . . . relationship</span> <span>looked like, from his perspective. Jack didn’t hate her. He </span><em><span>liked</span></em><span> her, and not in the normal-for-his-type sense of appreciating her attitude, or her spirit, or her pluck, or whatever having a shred of personality was called in the circles he frequented.</span></p><p>
  <span>He liked her in the sense of wanting to quote schmaltzy poetry at her, treat her to dinner and keep her for eternity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty five years ago, she had lost a friendship spanning more than half a century to the revelation that the boy she’d grown up with had followed in the footsteps of the wrong aunt, becoming an embodiment of everything she’d spent almost four fifths of her life fighting to obliterate. Incidentally, at the time it had also come to light that Jack wanted to be much more than friends, having been in love with her since forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To preserve her threadbare sanity, Valerie refused to engage with that information.</span>
</p><p><span>“What do you</span> <span>want, then?” he asked, following a protracted silence which he’d spent scrutinizing her face as though the lines creasing her forehead might hide a cheat code to turn her pleasant. That was his one want: that she act towards him as she once had, so that everything would return to what once had been. She’d deny him, always. Sweet payback for the lies he’d spent decades feeding her. “What can I do to make you agree to talk?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“We</span>
  <em>
    <span> are</span>
  </em>
  <span> talking. As for what I’d want, it shocks me that you even have to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack closed his eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tch</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ing softly. The cold, analytical part of Valerie informed her that here was a golden opportunity to get a hit in before he could react, but curiosity held her back. It was a novel approach. Bargaining, rather than attempting to plead his case again. Or issuing apologies that he clearly badly wanted to be sincere, yet fell flat for how they made clear that his understanding of what he’d done wrong was tenuous at best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her wanted to know where this would lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to free your humans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cringed, outwards and inwardly. Well. There was the answer to her question about the fate of the Westmont section. At least she didn’t have to wonder anymore.</span>
</p><p><span>“I want you to free my colleagues from the Liberation Front, as well as any other humans that you decided to</span> <span>appropriate, get rid of the gate, get rid of whatever that bitch cooked up that is making phones explode, and </span><em><span>leave</span></em><span>.” Valerie watched his face, alert to every twitch of expression. She hoped, despite not wanting to, despite knowing that she was setting herself up for disappointment. With Marabeth dead and Jack no longer under her thumb, maybe he’d . . . “And I want you to let Mrs. Drakma go.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Jack made no attempt to subdue his reaction, coming just short of hissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie nodded, more to herself than him, and resumed plotting where she’d left off before she’d allowed wishful thinking to sidetrack her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was maddening; too many variables, too many issues to tackle with meager information to go on, too much magic thrown in the mix. And Jack. With Marabeth’s death, it was a safe assumption that he’d inherit her company. The woman had other relatives, but insofar as Valerie knew her nephew was the only one she’d tolerated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meaning that Jack Aramis was now the problem-in-chief. She hadn’t quite digested the shift. She wasn’t certain she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t do anything for cheap, do you?” He’d overcome his temper flareup, and now studied her through half-lidded eyes, no doubt also plotting. “It’s a lot to ask for in exchange for a conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She forced her voice to cool instead of rise, having gotten this far without shouting. He always stopped listening when she shouted. “This is your chance, the only one you’ll get, to convince me that Marabeth was the problem and that without her toxic influence, you are salvageable. Don’t ruin it by being–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from speaking ill of the dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’d appreciate it if you refrained from–” She waved her hand, encompassing all of him. “– </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but one learns to moderate one’s expectations. You can shoulder the loss of capital. Greed is about the only character flaw you don’t have. This is the lowest bar you need to clear for me to stop considering you a blight upon the land, why are you even arguing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and massaged his forehead, and again she could have used the chance to . . . but no. She’d wait a moment, just in case, just on the off chance that the moment she was wasting was the moment he needed to see the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack raked his fingers through his hair as though torn about how to proceed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I have to,” he said, at length, “if that’s what it takes, then very well. I’ll give up on this town and leave. I want you to come with me, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie grimaced. She had expected that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In what capacity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bewildered look she got in response might even be genuine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, in what capacity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I go with you, what will I be? Your prisoner? Slave? Pet? Will you brainwash me into submission, put me in chains and tell me to heel?” Jack’s feet slid forward, but he might not be aware that they’d done so. There was a disquieting glint in his eyes. Valerie didn’t know what she’d do with herself – or do </span>
  <em>
    <span>to him</span>
  </em>
  <span> – were he to reply ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>All of the above</span>
  </em>
  <span>’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that clarifies an awful lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said. The fact that you feel the need to repeat yourself? Suspicious.” Even so, she gave the prospect thought. It might not be a palatable route, but it would be clean. Temporary, too. Even if by some fluke she failed to escape after she’d assured the town’s freedom, Jack wouldn’t be able to keep her. Once word that he had her reached the High Council, they would demand that he turn her in to be executed. He’d have to comply, defy them and risk incurring his own share of legal troubles, or free her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faced with such choices, Valerie had little doubt about what he’d pick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that I–” Jack sucked in a breath. She knew at once what he’d say, and – screw it. If he was allowed to negate her swearing, she was entitled to pretend that the words he was about to speak were nothing beyond moving air. “I love you, Valeriana, and if–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“– if you come with me, I’ll take care of you. Protect you. Make sure you want for nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You won’t be brainwashed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” There he went again, making assurances left reeking of deception for how much emphasis he placed on them. Her failure to be impressed was obvious, as Jack took one look at her face and heaved another sigh. “You don’t trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie fought and lost against the urge to roll her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You spent decades pretending you were someone you are not, have a track record of lies, deceit, willful misrepresentation of facts and oath breaking the size of a continent, and it surprises you that I won’t take you at your word? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll go with you.” He brightened at that, made to move forward. She stuck him back in place with a glare. “On the condition that you free </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, destroy every record of how that gate was made, and don’t whine when I fail to be impressed with the gilded cage you intend to lock me in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s expression soured, whether at the conditions set, the implication that she expected him to whine unless she specified otherwise, her assertion that she wouldn’t enjoy being captive in his care, or the fact that attempting to defend himself would only make her more convinced that he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think I’m planning to do to you that’s that bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiss me, at the very least.” The promptness of her response notwithstanding, she was certain that her face had shifted to a shade between milk white and green. His silence, the blend of bashfulness and annoyance he displayed, the lack of contradiction . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t mind it the first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The first time</span>
  </em>
  <span>–” The only way Valerie could prevent herself from giving in and shouting was to talk laboriously slowly, as if explaining to a child. “–you caught me by surprise. You were someone I liked and cared about, because I was an idiot who failed to see through your mask and swallowed your lies. That won’t happen again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, that disquieting silence. Except . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s song was still the loudest sound in her mind, but no longer the only one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I accept your conditions,” he was saying, as she adjusted her stance and solidified her grip on the dagger. “I’ll free them, and you’ll surrender. No fighting, no fuss, no trying to run, and soon enough you’ll see how senseless it was to worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone means </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she told him, ignoring the taunt. Jack waved a hand with a touch of irritation at her insistence on a point which was, insofar as it concerned him, already settled. “Including Mrs. Drakma. I know that you want revenge, but if you want</span>
  <em>
    <span> me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’ll abstain. Because if you harm her, I won’t forgive you for as long as I live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, dispassionate, lips barely twitching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie smiled, stretching her lips wide. There was relief filling her, selfish relief, because she’d never need to know what he’d held in store for her. There was also disappointment, because despite the heavy price, everything would have been simpler if Jack had proposed the deal in earnest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have pretended to hesitate,” she commented, already stepping back from his narrowing gaze. He didn’t stop her from retreating until her feet were inches away from the ledge. “Mrs. Drakma killed the person you care about the most in the entire universe. I</span>
  <em>
    <span> know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you’d never answer readily if asked to forsake revenge. You never placed my wishes above hers, I’d be a moron if I expected otherwise just because she’s dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Jack didn’t refute her, he still managed to look personally attacked. Valerie turned, craning her neck to look down the side of the building. She saw the expected: a mass of coral tentacles with a face, pinched in concentration, at their center. They were halfway up, still some distance away, but she could see the red cheeks lose color as the man realized he’d been spotted. There were others, hanging out of sight. So many blood songs, muted but growing louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Val</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jack started, careful, expecting her to be upset at the discovery that it had all been a ploy to buy his men time to arrive and set siege. As if these things weren’t her only expectation when it came to him. As though talking might fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that Axis?” Keeping one eye on Jack, she darted a grin at the sheepish climber. “Yep. HI AXIS! HOW IS YOUR DAY GOING, AXIS? IS THAT A NEW HAIRCUT?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her, Jack made a noise between a sigh and a snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why are you like this?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” she shot back, finally surrendering to the urge to scream. “Did you even – if I had bargained for the humans and left Mrs. Drakma out of it, would you have honored the deal then? Was any part of what you were offering sincere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t lie about anything I said I’d do for you if you agreed to come with me. But the company was my aunt’s work of a lifetime. I can’t let it go under within a week of inheriting it.” There was a plea in there, an attempt to cajole her into understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she wasn’t the only one making wasteful efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. To Darkness with your sorry ass, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie spun around, launching herself sideways at an angle that would have sent her diving off the edge if a tentacle, thick and gray, hadn’t snaked around her ankle. The moment she took to bend over and stab herself free, Jack was upon her. He was fast, but the more he shifted himself the slower he’d be, and she’d always beat him at speed either way. She evaded his attempt to grab her, grabbed at him instead and pulled him against her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brief, stunned pause at the move gave her the latitude needed to bring the dagger up under his chin, a hair’s length away from slicing him open the same way she had Sykes. She’d have to find another way to impair him, however. Knock him unconscious, use him as a hostage – but then she’d need to drag him past the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack raised a hand. She pressed the dagger flush against his skin, because he’d failed to get the hint that he wasn’t to move. He stared back unblinking, showing no fear or even unease, looking almost challenging, and then he was throwing himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span> with enough force that she was left with the front of his trench coat in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was back on his feet, smiling, before she could toss the fabric aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie made to hurtle towards him, hyper-aware of the need to be at close quarters. She hated, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> fighting other Tsikalayans. Enneads were almost as bad, but at least their species had a cap on the number of extraneous limbs they could manifest. Once you sliced off all eight, that was it, only regular arms left to contend with. Trying the same with one of her own would be akin to tackling a bonking medusa. She could take out as many tentacles as it took to flood the rooftop, and he’d keep shifting replacements unless she inflicted substantial damage to the main body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack had fought her enough times to know that getting in his face was her preferred approach. As luck – or rather, his pathological need to touch her – would have it, it was also his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of red blocked her path, narrowly missing her shoulder as the blade swooped down. Valerie blinked, then swore under her breath. Of course the stupid coat had been hiding a weapon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s lips formed a thin, smug line as he brandished the sword, preventing her from coming near without getting slashed by what, even before she did a double take and recognized the weapon, Valerie knew to be red silver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth opened, letting a disbelieving exhale escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get that?” The sword was dual-edged, with a black hilt adorned with scarlet glyphs. Allegedly they spelled the Lazur family motto in one of the uncountable dead languages of Old Tsikala. Allegedly because her father claimed it was so, and how the man knew was a mystery, considering that this particular language was so thoroughly defunct that no one living remembered what it had been called. The last time Valerie had laid eyes on the blade she’d been seven, and gotten dragged to her room and locked in for a week as punishment for snooping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sack-of-shit father likes gambling.” Wholly against her will, the corner of Valerie’s mouth quirked up. Irrespective of her and Jack holding opposing opinions about everything, they’d never disagree on one point: both of them had been sired by waddling farts. “Don’t look so disturbed, I have no intention of appropriating a family heirloom. You can have it later, provided that I trust you to not–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did disturb her to see the sword in Jack’s hands, but that had more to do with how much it changed their game. He could kill or maim her in one stroke. Although he wouldn’t, she was somewhat sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She retreated, forcing down the frustration welling up inside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to run?” Jack spoke softly, giving his words just the slightest chiding inflection. He ran his thumb over the flat side of the blade, almost lovingly, without taking his eyes off of her. “Why, I thought you’d hold yourself to higher standards than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t acknowledge the taunt, reached for her rifle so fast that the leather strap holding it ripped, shot Jack once in the knee and braced as she let herself fall back. It was a good thing she did, although she’d been doing it to prepare for a violent crash with the street rather than to have a wall of salmon pink limbs explode in her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled away, seeking another opening, and blanched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least fifty tentacles of varying lengths rippled along the roof, extending and curling like aberrant cat tails. She made a slow veer left, and no sooner had she looked down than more emerged there, these pure black – that had to be Rem. True forms in black, white, any color you couldn’t get by mixing up a rainbow, were rare. The tentacles closer to the roof corner sought the salmon ones, knotting with them until the two walls were one. The same was happening behind her. They were building a cage, a tapestry of cylindrical slabs of meat that she’d have to cut her way through without them seizing her.</span>
</p><p><span>“And now what?” Jack asked. To his credit, he appeared to be</span> <span>trying not to brim with arrogance. When she didn’t reply, he sighed theatrically, shed the remains of the trench coat with a shudder and moved his left hand to his collar, commencing to unbutton it. “Let’s not draw this out. You’ll make yourself tired and cranky and wind up hurt, and then I’ll be the one who has to hear it. For once in your life, Val, be sensi–”</span></p><p>
  <span>Valerie rushed him, launched herself at his knees before he could shift and elbowed the sword out of his hand. She also landed a hit on his face and nicked his arm, but after that the advantage of surprise was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack grabbed her from behind, looping a gray limb as thick as a can around her upper body. The pressure squeezed the air out of her lungs, but she wasted no time severing it off. Another tentacle sprouted from his shoulder and went for the discarded sword, kicking it from under her before she could reach out. Valerie groaned and dropped on all fours while he attempted to wrap a third tentacle around her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled herself away in time, wheezing. Jack was done shifting. Five dark-gray tentacles grew from his shoulders and back, hovering around him like the arms of a colorless sea anemone. One shot forward parallel to the ground, snagging her leg. Valerie stabbed it and it let go, but no sooner was she done, and already Jack was shooting another tentacle at her head. It missed the target, but this one finally got her by the neck and twisted around it, making way down her shoulder. It stabbed a pressure point in her inner elbow, triggering a quiver that made the dagger slip from her fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit. Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quit being a pest,” Jack snarled, a hint out of breath, poise slipping into irritation as he squeezed, causing her to gasp out loud. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jump in a volcano and die!” Valerie spat, unhinging her jaw. A Tsikalayan’s true form consisted of many parts beyond tentacles, which through some unknowable quirk of nature, she could not manifest. She could shift smaller things, though. Nails into claws. Blunt and square teeth into something more akin to shivs, strong enough to break through cartilage and bone. She lowered her chin and bit, thankful that tentacles bled little, and yanked herself free when the twitching limb slackened its grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dagger – she caught sight of it lying near Jack’s left boot, and though it vexed her, she wouldn’t risk getting that close again. The sword, on the other hand, had ended up on the opposite side of the roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reading her intent, Jack lunged. With the weight of his true form behind him, it felt like getting torpedoed by a race car. Her forehead banged against the concrete, providing the opening he had been waiting for. An arm went around her waist while a hand pressed against her nape, keeping her face down as he warped his tentacles into bindings – </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad, bad, danger.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She clawed at the arm caging her, but this time he didn’t budge. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin as he leveled his mouth to her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the position you are in. Really, just stop and think this through for a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stop? Stop resisting, quit fighting? He’d be asking for less if he demanded that she cease breathing. The fight, her contribution to the endless unwinnable war, was what gave her the right to be alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t understand that, and therefore would never understand her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did make a show of sighing and going limp, causing him to still in shock. Then she jabbed an elbow under his rib cage, twisted around, eel-like, and aimed a boot at his crotch. She was on her feet and running at once, not stopping to look behind her, not even for the satisfaction of seeing how angry Jack was bound to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tentacle, salmon colored, zoomed past Valerie’s ear as she went for the sword. She grabbed it as it snaked back to attempt a strangler hold. On pulling it, she met a predictable amount of resistance, but persisted until she had the limb slimmed down to half its girth and as tense as a bowstring. Then, she let go. The tentacle snapped back with an elastic twang. The man it was attached to – was that Byron? Gods, so many familiar faces today! – exclaimed in surprise as he vanished down the side of the building. A tangled cloud of salmon, green and brown trailed after him as, in an unforeseen but convenient display of camaraderie, the others convened to pull him back up, leaving a spot in the net wide open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie ran for it. She ran, and then she flew. The closest building was too far away to reach in a single jump, but she’d counted on it; she landed on a protruding balcony some storeys below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This building was an office block, empty and tidy as on an ordinary non-work day. She barreled past desks and cubicles, hesitating at the sight of computers before deciding that they weren’t worth taking a chance on, then pausing again by the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack would have every rooftop in the vicinity covered. At this point, getting back on the road was preferable to high stakes parkour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The garage, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When a light flickered on next to the dwindling floor numbers to signal that someone below had called down the elevator, Valerie adjusted her grip on the sword, swinging it experimentally. Already she missed her dagger. She was decent with swords, but they weren’t her first pick, and this one sat uneasy in her hands. She had stopped using the Lazur name, at Mrs. Drakma’s urging, years before learning that her father had disinherited her with prejudice. The sword was a tangible reminder of another life she’d lived, another facet of herself that she’d hated and discarded for all the pain it had brought her. Not unlike Jack, in a way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking herself, Valerie listened for voices hiding under the groaning of cables, trying to discern how many enemies she’d have to face. Nothing, until two floors before ground zero, a low tune slipped furtively inside her head. Only the one, and it was familiar in the way of shirts worn for an extended period of time and due a wash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, then. She bit her lip, not worried but thoughtful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator landed with a cheerful </span>
  <em>
    <span>pling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The man standing outside had not counted on it being occupied. He’d been chewing on a cigarette while fingering an amusingly shaped pink and black lighter, and dropped both once the doors opened to reveal her. He was armed, but with a small handgun that he struggled to aim, and mostly he only spluttered while blood drained from his face, leaving it the shade of expired dairy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, speech emerged.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>One of Valerie’s hands was on the sword and the other poised to hit the button that shut the doors, but then the man darted forward to slam on the one that would</span> <span>close them from the outside, and she switched gears and wedged a knee in the gap, because actually, she could use this.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Nick! Been a while, hasn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes to determine if they were alone. They were. Good. Great. Let there be something to salvage from the past ten minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicolai Cicerny was Jack’s best friend. There was no accounting for taste on either pole of that relationship, and who had gotten the short end of the stick was a riddle for the ages. He was a dark-haired, sharply dressed bag of douche who Valerie thought shared more than a passing resemblance with a mongoose. And he –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Astara above, I’m not here for this nonsense. Go the fuck away!” – he </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t like her. Mayfly employees tended to not be her greatest fans by default, which, fair enough, considering how often they needed to get replaced on her account. Nick, however, was her only recurring enemy whose standard reaction was to haul ass in the opposite direction. As gutless as Sykes had been, but smarter about it. In addition, whereas Sykes had reached infamy for breaking one of the two cardinal rules – </span>
  <em>
    <span>you don’t murder family, you don’t fuck family</span>
  </em>
  <span> – Nick was renowned for having deserted the Barashi Armed Forces and avoided the usual gruesome consequences through an epic amount of bribery, and for a scandalous incident involving a giant octopus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually people only recalled the octopus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t do, I’m afraid.” Valerie looked him up and down, assessing. “I find myself in need of a hostage who can double as a source of information. I think you’ll do. Also, and I know that this is neither here nor there, but. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you own a lighter with breasts</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick backed away as she advanced, teeth bared, eye twitching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kss! Shoo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you godsdamned fruitcake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fired the handgun, missing every single shot whilst flipping her off with his free hand, and bolted. With a groan of frustration, Valerie rushed after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hand on heart, she wasn’t dying for Nick’s company, but he could tell her more than a random henchman like Byron or Axis. Besides, if she had to lug around a hostage, Nick was the ideal candidate. If not because he was Jack’s best friend – she’d held that position once, and therefore knew how much it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>worth – then because he was the shittiest fighter of the lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no you don’t!” Valerie propelled herself forward, colliding with the man and bringing him down. He twisted like a worm in a vat of butter and tried scratching out her eyes, forcing her to do away with the pleasantries and whack his head against the marble floor a good half dozen times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped just before he lost consciousness and hauled him to his feet. He looked fairly out of it as she tossed him into the elevator. When she neared him after the doors shut, it took him a moment to go from swaying on the balls of his feet to tripping as he tried to stagger away, the handgun aimed at a point three fingers above her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll shoot you, don’t think I won’t! </span>
  <em>
    <span>You crazy fucking psycho.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p><span>“Do you think you’d still be holding that thing if it concerned me? If you plan to get out of this alive, you’ll do your best not to annoy me. And annoying me is the most you’ll manage if you shoot. You know I have silver im–” Valerie stopped turning the sword to make the yellow-orange lights bounce off the blade, narrowing her eyes at the firearm that still wasn’t aimed properly, lifting a single eyebrow because </span><em><span>really</span></em><span>? Seriously?</span> <span>“It’s not even loaded with silver, is it?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Go fuck yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods above,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re a– just hand it over before you embarrass yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly and shaking with loathing, Nick tossed the handgun her way, proving once again that out of the Mayfly staff – thinking of them as Jack’s men, which they now were, remained strange and distressing – his sense of self-preservation was among the most finely tuned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie brought down a foot on the barrel, flattening it to uselessness. Now it was a gamble whether she could keep him sufficiently intimidated to stop him from shifting once they were out of the elevator. She’d rather not kill Nick while Jack was still grieving Marabeth. An undeserved courtesy, considering that Jack himself had never stayed his hand from murdering someone she cared about. Still, no matter how many times she ran her tongue over her teeth, Valerie couldn’t rid herself of the sour taste filling her mouth at the prospect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d try to keep Nick alive, even though the man was no better than Sykes and, much as it tore at her to admit it, neither of them was close to as bad as Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she spat, realizing she’d let the uneasy silence stretch too long, that Nick was staring at the sword and trying to suppress a shudder. “The gate. The magic screwing up the phones. The people you captured, Jack’s plan, whatever it is. Walk me through all of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or</span>
  </em>
  <span> I chop off your head, obviously.” He went a shade paler, and he’d already started off a powdery mildew. There was a lull in their exchange when the elevator ground to a stop. Valerie bit back a sound of annoyance as she pushed Nick out into the gloom of the underground parking lot. Before following, she tore through the wiring of the button panel, ensuring that the elevator would be stranded. Nick had the sense to stay put in the meantime. Good. It made her feel less like stabbing him in the ear. “You can start with the gate. None were made for thousands of years, how did Marabeth manage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone Fedex-ed her a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Build Your Own World Gate’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>guide,” came the prompt reply. Valerie shifted her hands until her nails were sharp enough to produce a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ksszz</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound as they cut through the air, and jammed her thumb an inch below Nick’s chin. He squealed. “What? Will it make you happier if I say she found an ancient text in the bowels of a temple in the middle of fuck wherever, and that we had to run from a rolling rock and jump over a scorpion pit to get it? That’s not how it went. She got sent instructions in the fucking mail, Redmont. Believe me, don’t believe me, that’s how it happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds farfetched.” Valerie shook her head. She couldn’t keep wasting time pummeling him, although she itched to. “Suppose I buy it. Who sent them?” A helpless shrug was all she got. She pressed on. “Who has them now? Who saw them aside from Marabeth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack.” But of course. “They’re somewhere at the Mayfly, don’t know where.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he planning to do with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck all? None of us can read them, they’re in Lyrian or some shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not trying to open more gates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. We already have the one, we’re down to two magic users who are running themselves ragged trying to prevent the Tescara Ring that Lady Maz put around town from collaps–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tescara Ring, Ring of Tescara, whatever. The magic screwing up the phones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why did you have to ask, you raving fucking lunatic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Valerie couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, because she already had one hundred problems and badly didn’t want this to be one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Nick was telling the truth . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Centuries ago, the lords of Barashi had cut off trade relations with Earth, having determined that a world crawling with magicians, where the views on slavery tended towards unfavorable as history dragged forth, would eventually become a problem. Meaning to conquer it at a later date, they’d cordoned off Earth with the Ring of Tescara, a spell so powerful that it had made an entire world forget what until then had been common knowledge: that magic was real and humanity not alone under the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The High Council had meant to wait a generation or five, until the magicians dwindled, until they were secure in the knowledge that no one would see the hit come. But then there’d been other worlds to crush, the Inocore War ravaging Barashi itself, and in between humans had gone and developed WMDs that made magic seem like a paltry concern, and nothing had come of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The other Ring, the big one,” Valerie started, feeling violently ill as her awareness of how much trouble Earth was in settled, “took </span>
  <em>
    <span>eight hundred </span>
  </em>
  <span>magic users to cast. You’re telling me that Marabeth plus some randoms managed to put one around Westmont?”</span>
</p><p><span>“She did it alone.” Nick winced at something in her expression. “If I was going to lie I wouldn’t make up a lie this stupid. Don’t want</span> <span>to believe me, fine, not my fucking problem.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes your fucking problem</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Valerie scanned the cars, parked helter-skelter and in diverse states of destruction, did her best to ignore the smell of rotting flesh and shoved Nick forward, towards a blue sedan parked close to the exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The keys were stuck in the left side door lock. She made a point of not thinking about the fact that the plushy keychain they were attached to was stained red brown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She also made a point of ensuring she bumped Nick’s head when wrangling him into the driver’s seat. By the time she’d fastened her seatbelt, she remained on edge, but could at least breathe again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marabeth was never so powerful. Enough to be dangerous, I’ll give her that, but not</span>
  <em>
    <span> equivalent-to-eight-hundred</span>
  </em>
  <span> powerful. And where did she get the framework for the spell, I thought that the High Council had the records sealed in–” She paused, glancing at Nick, who had his eyes swiveling from her to the wheel and back to her, ostensibly trying to determine whether he’d gotten pushed into the wrong seat. “Let me guess, more unsolicited mail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also to be found at the Mayfly, presumably.” If Valerie’s voice verged on shrill, that was only expected. High stakes, high stress situation even before factoring in wild world gates and spells that could wipe the whole of a place from common consciousness. Better that she let the blues settle now, when she wasn’t embroiled in any fighting, than have them drown her later. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she soldiered on. She tossed him the keychain. Nick stared at it as if afraid it would bite. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get driving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you want </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to – right.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Right.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what else does Marabeth’s version of the Ring do? I don’t recall exploding cellphones being part of the original deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe because they </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t been invented yet</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the Earth’s seventeen hundreds, genius.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was careful to withdraw the sword before smacking the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are nowhere near as funny as you think you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hilarious. Go choke on a chainsaw.” That earned him another whack. Nick righted himself with a groan, his countenance foul. “Not encouraging me to share more, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hummed in concession. It wasn’t lost on her that even taking the threat on his life into account, Nick</span>
  <em>
    <span> had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been forthcoming with information. It could mean that he was lying. It could mean that he believed that she wouldn’t be able to do anything with what he’d disclosed, which, they’d see about that, wouldn’t they? Or it could mean that he’d only revealed the tip of the iceberg, that a greater disaster lurked underneath it all, liable to make gates and improbable spell work seem like child’s play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let it not be that. She was already courting a headache as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me what the damned thing does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes everyone on the outside forget the place exists, makes it impossible to get anything out – people, calls, e-mail, you name it. Picture a bubble, covering the town on every plane, only the bubble is made of TNT.” He grinned horribly, then blinked as the driveway ushered them into daylight. “Where to, crazycakes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Mayfly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick craned his neck as far as he could without cutting it open and cast her a glare both mocking and withering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you save everyone the trouble and turn yourself in, then? Might as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself and tell me what Jack’s grand plan is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bold of you to assume he has one of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-so-grand </span>
  </em>
  <span>plan, then.” It was a shame that having Nick driving meant that she could no longer crush his nose into the tablier. “What’s his goal? What does he want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What. It’s not obvious?”</span>
</p><p><span>“I mean, aside from getting me.” That part was forever a given. “The town. He won’t get Tescara’s Ring to keep now that its sole caster is dead, even I know that and I’m as educated about magic as you people are on ethical business practices. He can get other users to funnel power into it, but it will</span> <span>break down in the long term, and what will he do then?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Fabulous question, Redmont! The answer is, I’ll be fucked if I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t tell you? His </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Valerie didn’t sound bitter, since she wasn’t bitter, period. She had long ago surmounted the indignity of being traded in for Nicolai ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking-is-both-my-favorite-word-and-favorite-activity</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Cicerny, and if she nevertheless felt like jerking him back by the hair and pressing the sword flush against his cheek, it was only because Nick had a knack for riling her up. “I can scarcely believe it. In fact, I don’t believe it at a–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to tell! Dude has no damn clue what he’s doing, alright?” The man sucked in a breath, sneered and bent away from the blade, making a big show of adjusting his collar while giving her a contemplative stare. “You realize this whole operation is illegal through and through, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when do any of you care about human laws?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t. It’s illegal by</span>
  <em>
    <span> ours.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Seeing the bafflement Valerie failed to mask, Nick sighed in a put-upon fashion and droned on. “You’re right that the Ring won’t hold. So when it goes, and the humans find a ghost town, we’ll have turned a venture pursued without license into the biggest exposure risk since the original Tescara Ring was placed. The Council? Won’t be thrilled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the blame will fall on Jack.” A pause. “He didn’t mention that part, when I–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think he realizes,” Nick muttered, eyes on the road, avoidant. “He is, as usual, too focused on</span>
  <em>
    <span> you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to care. If Lady Maz was alive we wouldn’t be stuck in this sideshow, just keep the Ring going, move to the next town on the list, and on . . . ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And on and on and on, magic eating up pieces of the map one at a time, until enough of the world was stripped bare to make conquest a cakewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie thanked all the gods for Mrs. Drakma and her rocket launcher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just for the sake of satisfying my morbid curiosity, what does he want with me? I mean, concretely?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Concretely? Fuck you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ . . . is that an answer or just your compulsive swearing flaring up? I can’t tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Redmont.” Nick must have cottoned on to the fact that she had to let up on the number of concussions bestowed upon him lest he lose control of the car, since he dared to roll his eyes. “You’re a century old bloodthirsty homicidal maniac, don’t pretend you’re too innocent to get this shi-</span>
  <em>
    <span>fgnnn.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The sentence concluded in a wheeze that would soon have become a death rattle if Nick hadn’t turned his eyes back to the road, pupils blown wide and whites shrunk to a thin lining as he felt up the windpipe she’d nearly crushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>turn left</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would not pursue this line of inquiry, Valerie decided. No doubt Nick would have few qualms about enlightening her further. She just wasn’t certain anymore whether she wished to be enlightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t lie and say she didn’t chafe for not knowing, that the doubts didn’t press on her mind whenever she and Jack fought. That there wouldn’t be moments, when he had her down to the ground, fingers curling in her hair, lips on her throat as if meaning to bite, as if it weren’t obvious what he was really –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Valerie wondered where Jack would stop, should he ever catch her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MOTHERFUCKER!” Nick yelled, slamming down the brake. Valerie caught a glimpse of teal before the windshield came raining down upon them. The other man brought his hands up to protect his face from the glass splinters. She jabbed him in the neck and slapped his hands back on the wheel, dragging it to the left so that the car turned with a shriek of tires and spat the tentacle from where it had lodged itself. Only then did she relinquish command back to Nick, who looked like he might be on the verge of losing his lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on. As fast as you can. If you even dream of letting them catch up–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHY ALWAYS WITH THE FUCKING DEATH THREATS?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an artful shrug, Valerie moved the tip of the sword from his neck to his crotch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why always so much of a bitch?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. Go around that corner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just turn yourself in, for Astara’s sake! Could be that getting dicked improves your gnarly personality!” The commotion created by something – as it turned out, a whole chunk of wall – smashing into the side of the car and flying apart to crash the remaining windows saved Nick from being wrenched out of his seat and tossed out. He swore and made indignant motions at whoever had launched the attack. Valerie couldn’t see, too preoccupied with controlling the twirling wheel and squashing Nick’s foot on the accelerator to turn and check. “What’s that shithead doing?! He knows I’m in here too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe no one actually gives a damn about you.” If the words were mouthed with undue relish, Valerie didn’t dwell on it. “Changed my mind about the Mayfly. Turn there, behind that bistro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a dead end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie frowned in confusion. For sure it was. Not only had she left the jeep parked there, she hadn’t lived in Westmont on and off for thirty years to not know the playing field like the back of her hand. However, it was peculiar to have Nick be impromptu helpful by pointing out something like that. He could only have been less on her side if he were to perch atop her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unnerved, she motioned for him to proceed regardless. They made it to the end – yes, the dead end. A tall brick wall stood blocking the way. Nick made sure to gesture at it while scowling in a manner of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>told you so</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. The jeep was as she’d left it. Ignoring her driver’s waspish, ill-disposed expression, Valerie snuck a foot under his leg and slammed it down on the brake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know what the point of putting me behind the wheel fucking was,” he told her, tartly. “You’re an even worse backseat driver than Jack, and that’s saying something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shotgun</span>
  </em>
  <span> driver,” she corrected, already flying into motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick put his face in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> didn’t just say that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Have you no shame?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shrugged. She was about done with the man either way. With scant seconds before her pursuers came barreling in, and no further questions that Nick could answer in such little time, he was a loose end. Five shoves of his head against the door later, he was out cold and Valerie was throwing him out ahead of her whilst moving towards the jeep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished she’d brought grenades. She’d considered that they might come in handy, but their regrettable tendency to go off if left in her vicinity for long stretches of time had dissuaded her. Moreover, she hadn’t expected to </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, had wagered on there being plenty around to use in Westmont. Blakely and the Rivers siblings owned between them enough explosives to level a mountain or seven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadly, those three were MIA along with the rest of the Front, likely going through hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing Valerie had around was a fuel container. Her time ticked down to nothing as she grabbed it from under the front seat. She moved to the back of the jeep, popping the trunk open to trade the rifle for something that would rip through a Tsikalayan to greater effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anti-tank gun had just been leveled over her shoulder when a tentacle came flying, making no pretense of attempting a strangler hold. It went straight in with chilling speed and strength. Had Valerie been any slower to dodge, it would have knocked her head clean off.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wonderful. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The dream team was actually trying to kill her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack must be ways away still, as she doubted they’d dare this if he were there. His absence left her with an assembly made up of Nick, barely a blip on her radar, propped against a tire with a vacant expression, then Axis, atop the wall blocking the way. Three bodies covered the mouth of the alley with a hundred interlocking appendages - Byron, Rem, that one guy with brown tentacles and a lazy eye whose name she could never remember. On the roof of the bistro, also working to expand the web, Kalidriapolos was joined by some redhead she’d never seen. An equally nameless but more familiar face appeared next to Axis on the wall – Mr. Showboat, again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least that resolved the question of who she ought to tackle first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They struck as a unit as Valerie rolled towards the sedan, heaved herself up using the sword as a lever and slammed the door open on the first incoming tentacle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Second-third-fourth-fifth</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sixth struck simultaneously. Had she tried to chop her way through the onslaught, they’d have had her right then. Instead, Valerie</span>
  <em>
    <span> dropped</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sword. Used both hands to grip a dent in the side of the vehicle. Sent it vaulting into the tide of creepers and the personages to whom they attached. Picked up the sword again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to skip out of the way as they sent the sedan right back without missing a beat, which suited her. It meant she could use it as a podium to reach and grab the tentacles coming from up the wall. Once she’d caught an armful of them, squirming and feeling much like live snakes, she pulled. Except that as she pulled, more tentacles came in from behind; salmon and black, drawing a helix around her torso, stealing breath, then a third snapping around her knees to first lock them together, then making as if to pull back–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie saw the future like a scene preview of a film, alarm lights coming on as she read their intent. By jerking her legs sideways while her upper body remained stuck in their twin holds, they’d break her spine. Provided that they didn’t outright snap her in half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She threw her weight around and dug her heels in the dirt, still pulling with all her might on the green tentacles, which the others had done her the </span>
  <em>
    <span>enormous favor</span>
  </em>
  <span> of trapping against her chest while binding her. It was sheer luck that prevented one or more from squirming in the wrong direction and trespassing an organ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her efforts finally paid off when Mr. Showboat had his center of gravity so upset by her tugging that he lost his footing and toppled off the wall. Valerie stopped pulling so much and instead, steered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man made for a rather good wrecking ball, all things considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rem was the only member of the trio on the ground to get clobbered in Mr. Showboat’s landing. Conveniently, Rem was also the one doing most of the work of keeping her upper body under wraps. Having had someone land on him from a great height, his limbs slackened, giving her a chance to wriggle out before the others took over the load.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t dead. A shame, but it wouldn’t be so easy. Rem, as well as every other Mayfly staff member whose name Valerie bothered to remember, plus Lazy-Eye-Brown-Tentacles, had been part of her life for decades, by dint of being people she regularly faced off against who persisted in remaining alive. They stood in a different ballpark to Sykes, who had been an acquaintance for twenty years because he’d met her all of once before, survived through dumb luck, spent the years between then and today running and hiding, and had only gotten his name stuck in her head because whatever else he’d been, he’d been a character.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie pulled again, being rewarded with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>twang </span>
  </em>
  <span>that sounded like a bowstring and felt oddly elastic. Mr. Showboat, reeled back within reach, wound up slammed down next to Nick, who had finished wrestling himself back to reality and looked like he regretted having done that. Valerie let him be for the two seconds it took to swing the sword and cut off Mr. Showboat’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which – she couldn’t cut the moron any slack at all, honestly! – Nick repaid by trying to brain her with the fuel can. She kicked the detached head at</span>
  <em>
    <span> his</span>
  </em>
  <span> head, then kicked him in the knee until he went down. She considered saving herself further headaches by finishing him off, but got sidetracked by having to whirl around and open fire on the second wave of grabbing limbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fire focused on the redhead, because that one was an unknown quantity and she’d prefer to get rid of those as fast as possible. Surprisingly, the first shot that hit the heart caused him to collapse and remain down. Kalidriapolos made a fretful noise and crouched to shield the body from her rain of ammunition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shook her head. No silver immunity, then. Sweet darkness, what had that one been thinking, getting a job in the trade without meeting the minimum requirements for self-preservation?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kalidriapolos would be out for the next while, pawing at the redhead’s shirt where it was getting damp and dark with blood, the breeze coming in from that corner reeking of magic – ozone and salt and the feeling of getting kicked in the teeth. He’d be stuck healing until his patient either got back on his feet or succumbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie prayed that the man took his sweet time doing either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you even find these clowns?” she asked, to none of them in particular but training her gaze on Byron, who was fiddling with some weapon she didn’t recognize. The staring seemed to make him feel put on the spot, as he was compelled to acknowledge that she’d spoken. Usually they didn’t. None of the veteran Mayfly staff members were big on talking, which was . . . nice. It meant no insults, no lurid descriptions of how they’d fuck her every which way. Not because they weren’t a pack of predators or held qualms about sticking dick and whatever else where it wasn’t requested, but because they were smart enough to realize that disposing of her at once was the safer option. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> that engaging her only provided openings for her to rile them up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have one chance to surrender and three seconds to take it,” Byron informed her, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> ticked off. She might have gotten him to swear this time, except that Nick was sitting against the wall cradling a disembodied head and single-handedly depleting their shared well of profanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hoped that Astara wasn’t one of those deities who took issue with having their name spoken in vain, because Nick would be boiling alive two seconds from now if that were the case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air on her back ignited without warning. Valerie threw herself left and to the ground, off the path carved towards her in sizzling blue flame. It smelled like burning salt, and where it landed the ground split open. She sat up behind the wreckage of the sedan, reached for the nearby corpse and propped it up to provide cover for her back while she returned less effective fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheating rats. Her three seconds hadn’t even been up yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one new had arrived on the scene, meaning that Kalidriapolos remained the only magic user among them, and he was not only still tending to the redhead but also crap at anything other than healing. Yet it had been magic, no doubt. Valerie might lack in-depth knowledge about its workings, but she damn well recognized it when it was lobbed in her direction. Now Byron was raising that strange weapon of his and–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was good that her thigh was the only part of her pressed against the heap of junk, and even then only against the tire, because the ensuing blast hit the metal frame and became a live current, making it shake and steam and reek of burnt petrol and </span>
  <em>
    <span>right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there was that plan she needed to get back to. No more room to play around. Where in darkness was that can of fuel again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spotted it lying halfway to the jeep. Her macabre shield absorbed Axis’ two hits to her back, and thankfully the blast energy didn’t spread through flesh as it did with metal; it just burned. Soon she would need to ditch the body and dance, dance out of the way of death on her own. In the meantime, Nick had shaken himself out of his stupor again and was rattlesnake-ing around to make a mad dash towards safety, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods above didn’t he ever learn</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stay the hell put!” Valerie tripped the man, doing him a favor, as he fell out of the way of a blast that nearly hit him. She pushed Nick into the wall, away from the jeep. It wouldn’t be convenient to draw fire towards it. The sedan had taken so much fire damage it looked to be melting, and she’d need an escape vehicle in about a minute and a half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it stood to reason, the weaselly bastard attempted to shift, limbs tearing out of his suit and going for her neck – always the neck. Fortunately, fighting was neither his talent nor in his job description. Valerie had only the vaguest sense of what Nick did at the Mayfly, and since the reason for his working there boiled down to ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>rampant nepotism in the slave trade industry’, </span>
  </em>
  <span>probably so did he. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, it meant that he went down fast and hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was ripping the container open and drenching him head to toe with gasoline before he could work up the nerve to strike back. She pulled him up, maneuvering him so that she had the wall behind her and him in front. One of her hands fished through his pocket – where was it, she was sure she’d seen him put it in this one . . . </span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Don’t shoot, </span></em><span>it’s me, don’t shoot!” Nick was shouting, the others having focused their aim again –</span><em><span> was this . . . </span></em><span>? No, tin of mints. Foil . . . </span><em><span>condom.</span></em> <em><span>Urgh</span></em><span>. Loose change and cellphone and cigarettes, </span><em><span>just how much junk could one person fit in their pants</span></em><span>, maybe she should instead go with the sword . . . oh, no.</span> <span>There it was. Lighter!</span></p><p>
  <span>The others halted their march as she held it aloft. Valerie took the time to study the weapons they carried this time around. They put her in mind of Cynihean plasma blasters, which in turn had always reminded her of oversized water pistols. The reservoir that would contain water was in this case full of a suspension of swirling lightning, cerulean in color. She both didn’t like the look of those things and itched to get her hands on one.</span>
</p><p><span>Later.</span> <span>Back to business.</span></p><p>
  <span>“The first one to shoot me gets to explain to Jack, when he deigns to show himself, why his best friend is on fire.” There was no forceful stressing of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. None whatsoever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cicerny, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” The others looked unamused, but held their fire. Lazy-Eye-Brown-Tentacles seemed a bit more put out than the rest, as he proceeded to grouse: “Why is it always you? Same godsbegotten nonsense that happened in Cape Town!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, Cape Town. Good times. Valerie wished she were back there instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Redmont, put that thing down. The sword too.” That was Rem, weedy beanpole to Byron’s – standing scowling behind him – short and stout. He mentioned the sword like an afterthought, and looked like nothing so much as someone who’d appreciate an opportunity to check out of the situation and call it a day. “We . . . won’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could stand to look less like it pained him to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were shooting to kill two hot seconds ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No we weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Were so</span>
  </em>
  <span>! What, are you worried that I’ll go to Jack and tell on you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all continued to look both fed up and unimpressed, except Byron, who sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can but pray for the day Aramis grows better taste in women and we’re done with this crap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth, so do I.” It was clear that power dynamics had been upset in the wake of Marabeth’s demise and not yet righted themselves. What with Jack having previously worked with them as first among equals, he didn’t command the same respect his aunt had. In his absence, they’d follow the urge to destroy the threat she presented before minding their orders. It could be that Nick was right. That there was no deeper scheme going on, only Jack trying to keep the cows and the chickens fed while the barn stood on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though she’d summoned him, there was the devil himself, his song preceding him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack took in the scene with no evidence of surprise, eyes flitting to Nick before settling on her. He hadn’t shifted, but could do so between one breath and the next. Somewhere along the way he’d ridded himself of the leftovers of his shirt. It continued to mystify Valerie why any of them bothered to dress above the waist to begin with, if they knew they were heading into a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack eyed her levelly, calmly, as if she didn’t have someone he supposedly cared for held by the neck, one flick of her wrist away from getting torched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, Nick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? Ask your psycho girlfriend why always me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t have patience left for any of it. Him. Them. Every instinct of hers screeched, and there it was again, burning strong in her nostrils; the blasters shot silently, but that didn’t matter when she could sniff out their magic as they discharged. She was out of the way just in time, knowing fire would come from above because that was where everyone avoided looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground where she’d stood shook and cracked, glowing blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack, whose face had remained impassive throughout, was suddenly livid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are meant to be set to stun.” His voice, cold as ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Axis, the rogue shooter, unbothered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My mistake.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He sent down a toothy grimace, as if challenging her to accuse him of being full of horseshit, but tamely adjusted something on the underside of the blaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie rolled her eyes and, although not convinced that they wouldn’t try hitting her with anything immediately deathly with Jack in the vicinity, risked shuffling sideways towards the jeep, ignoring Nick’s attempts to stomp on her feet. At times like these, she lamented her inability to shift extra limbs. It was a challenge to coordinate dragging the man while keeping the lighter in one hand and the sword in the other, and now she had to go through his pockets </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span> –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie pressed her side against the door of the jeep with the flat portion of the blade held between it and her hip, then released the handle. Nick’s mastery of technology had died in the eighties and his phone was a flip brick, so she found it without having to dig much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This the time to order a pizza?” Nick sneered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stopped in his tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you are doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phoning the St. Louis headquarters.” More properly, the personal line in her office. Just in case the phenomena surrounding the Ring also affected the end destination. The place would be empty in her absence. Even when around, she was in there so seldom that she’d had to replace the plants on the windowsill with plastic ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you out of your fucking mind?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Nick’s face was so awash with fear that it had gone all the way around and back to inexpressive. “The ring’s not stable, you’ll blow us both–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie saw the moment Jack had realization dawn, his eyes going wide, his torso and shoulders rippling as he shifted, his lips moving but the words rendered inaudible by Nick’s shouting, plus the shrieking of machinery meeting magic and having a hateful time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She motioned as though she meant to throw the phone forward and instead let her arm swing back, casting it over her shoulder. The improvised bomb spread red mist around as it sailed past the wall, missing Axis’ shoulder, smoking and twirling and cutting wounds in the air as it went, marking its progress almost prettily.</span>
</p><p><span>Watching it go, Valerie became abruptly aware that the level of destruction about to ensue was not an intended function of the Ring, but a symptom of its instability. The spell had been dying a protracted death for days and, quite reasonably, didn’t want to work</span> <span>while it bled out. The destruction was its way of protesting the forced labor, and this explosion would – she</span> <span>knew, knew by the smell of the air and the way it seemed to fizz – be worse and greater than the one on the roof had been, and every other that followed would up the ante until</span> <span>something gave.</span></p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ohhh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This might actually be good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed to get away as fast as possible to do something with it, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world shook around Valerie’s ears and became full of red fire, Jack barreling towards her, the wall coming down with a sound that forced its way inside her head as painfully as it pierced her actual ears. It was like a living thing, like someone’s blood song,</span>
  <em>
    <span> crying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it stopped and it was just the racket of brick flying apart, pieces tumbling down as the structure shook. Axis was in the middle of it screaming blue murder, good for him</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Unwilling to get distracted, Valerie was shoving Nick in Jack’s way and lighting him up before the last brick hit the ground. There was a split second when she thought she’d mistimed, that the spark wouldn’t take, but then flames erupted – more screaming. Jack looked torn as he reached for the man, presumably to roll him over the ground and smoke the fire out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t stay and watch. She focused on forward, leaving the noise behind, not looking back to check if they chased her, then not looking, period, as she dashed through dust that tasted like iron on her tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her eyes again once she breathed clean air, stopped herself from careening into a motorcycle, kept running. She couldn’t hide; she hadn’t made it so far away that they wouldn’t hear and follow her song. And Jack, Jack would never give up, simple as that. He’d carry on like a bloodhound, his obsession undying and unshakeable. Which left her with . . . not many options.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, there was one plan among the dozens she’d been forming and discarding that hadn’t yet been rendered unviable. Valerie ran around the bistro, through a narrow street that ended back on the main artery in front, the formerly dead-ended lane paces away. She fled in there. The others hadn’t turned the corner yet, and with luck they’d assume she’d outraced them to the next block, buying her some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie was pleased to note that the dust cloud hadn’t chanced to settle in the time it’d taken for her to return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the jeep. There was Nick steaming on the ground with Kalidriapolos bent over him, muttering in a stressed-sounding way. There was Axis unconscious amidst loose bricks and, lovely, something going </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> at last, his blaster had been ejected from his hand, apparently undamaged. She slid forward, knees bent, fingers scraping ground so that she might snatch it up with only a slight slowing of pace. No time to try and tweak whatever setting had been adjusted to make it not kill; plenty of time to unload it on every target within her sights, even Axis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One couldn’t be too cautious, and the asshole more than deserved it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shouting coming from behind her now. The others were back, but Valerie was already on her way out again, having reached the jeep and yanked the door open. She let herself fall backwards into the driver’s seat, tossing the sword aside without looking, sending blast after blast through the open window, free hand going for the ignition key, feet to the pedals, turning to check if–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It slammed into her all at once, the song first but the fist following so close behind that she barely had time to breathe out a startled ‘o</span>
  <em>
    <span>h</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ before they blurred together. Pain – disorienting, splintering – seared through her cheek, then her neck as the blow caused her head to jerk around. A gray limb swung across her chest and looped back to trap her in her seat like the world’s most unwelcome safety belt. An equally strong grip clutched her neck, hands this time. Straddled as her shoulders were, she couldn’t bring up her arms to claw herself free, but she could still use the blaster if she found somewhere to aim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack predicted her attempt, however, and struck at her hand, squeezing it until she had no choice but to open it and let the weapon clatter harmlessly against her boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again.” His mouth was by her ear. His tone pleasant, conversational. Valerie couldn’t crane her head in a way that allowed her to see his face, but she could</span>
  <em>
    <span> hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was smirking as though it came with its very own sound effect. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ding. I have you now, my pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How</span>
  <em>
    <span>-the</span>
  </em>
  <span>-you-” she gasped out. Twenty seconds in his punishing hold and there went her oxygen savings. Valerie slashed claws at the tentacle over her stomach, since that one she could reach. By breaking it where it looped she could free her shoulders, but he anticipated her again and wound more rings around her, binding her arms to her body right down to the wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t struggle. Try to calm down, and I’ll let you breathe.” When she refused to do any such thing, and underlined her resolution with the assertion that he was a vile son of a bitch, Jack heaved a despondent sigh and leaned in </span>
  <em>
    <span>– no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No. She could see where things were headed and no, out of the question. She hissed and jerked in his hold. The fingers around her neck clenched. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or </span>
  </em>
  <span>I won’t let you breathe until I have no other recourse. Until you are right on the verge of passing out. Then I’ll squeeze again and do it all over, and over, however many times it takes for you to act like a reasonable being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that said, he kissed her. Her neck, but likely just because he couldn’t reach anything more interesting with the back of her seat standing in the way. Valerie froze, which made his mouth stop moving, though she could still feel his lips pressed to her skin as he hummed contently and removed a single hand from her throat. She could get air in now, though she had to fight for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stroked her hair while she heaved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One might even think him sympathetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl. Not that hard after all, was it?” He’d given her lungs a break, but this time wasn’t so foolish as to mistake a momentary lull in her struggle for surrender. The hand that remained on her throat was unrelenting. Regardless, her minuscule concession to cease writhing pleased him. Valerie felt a smile imprinted on her as his mouth moved to the junction between her neck and shoulder, making skin break out into gooseflesh wherever it passed. She shook her head, trying to hit where she guessed his nose to be. Jack tutted her. “Stop that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can make this feel good, Val. So let me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let you </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She heard her voice come out strangled, which stood to reason, since she </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>still being strangled and none too happy about it. His lips left her. She heard him sigh and fumble with something out of view, but the interruption didn’t last and soon his mouth was back, nipping lightly at her shoulder. He looped more tentacles around her, these pressing more than they gripped, arranging themselves around her waist and shoulders and hips and draping over her like a blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar position, but so out of place.</span>
</p><p><span>Jack would hold her like this when they’d been lonely children happy to at least have each other, in a full-bodied squeeze meant to reassure and comfort. As adults he’d do it more rarely, at times when one or both of them happened to be upset. It had helped her to be held, and it seemed to help</span> <span>him to have her to hold on to.</span></p><p>
  <span>Jack continued to kiss her, his mouth gentle and warm as it explored her shoulder, licking the hidden pulse points along her neck. Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> he released her throat. She’d been unresistant long enough that he seemed ready to make further concessions. That hand went under her collar, sneaking inside her shirt and sliding downwards. Valerie was too busy sucking in air, greedily and much too fast and possibly scalding her lungs, to comprehend at once what he was doing. Once she did she made a noise, angry and vicious and outraged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack made a noise in turn, a befuddled one. He’d found tough fabric where he’d counted on touching flesh. His fingers hovered over it, hesitating – no, shifting his nails. Valerie blinked in disbelief as she heard – </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> – the vest tearing</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So much for kevlar, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cleared her throat, ignoring the fact that it made the ache there worsen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop. That.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Predictably, he did not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie reviewed the last twenty years, panic rising unbidden within her, looking for precedent, ignoring the echo of Nick’s voice – ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>you can’t pretend to be that innocent’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>– and finding none. Jack hadn’t gone this far before. He’d seize every opening to lay his hands on her, appeared to delight in touching her as an enemy shouldn’t, but that tended to feel like him forgetting, in the moment, that they were no longer friends. That it was no longer appropriate to touch her in certain ways, never mind the fact that she’d been ridiculously permissive about physical contact even for what they were then. Further setting aside the fact that kissing shouldn’t make the list, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> night had ended in death and tears and a smoking gun and her pushing his lying ass from a bridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never tried to tear through her underwear. Granted, the piece in question was a bulletproof vest, but it still counted. Valerie made sure to mention that, spitefully, whilst Jack pulled at the flaps he’d cut along her cleavage. He laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it doesn’t count. Stay still, now.” He rolled her nipple between his fingers, pinched it lightly. She let a hiss slip past her teeth, causing him to still, but only for an instant before resuming, touch featherlight but still very much present. Rubbing circles down one of her breasts when she’d half expected him to knead it like dough, whispering in her ear as though he cared. “Sorry. Didn’t expect you’d be so sensitive. Is this better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie closed her eyes and said nothing aloud, slowly counting down from ten in her head. Jack would be counting too, however many seconds it would take for her to crack and start struggling. The sounds behind her had stilled; they’d been subtle and muted and he hadn’t meant for her to be aware of those, wanting her concerned solely with the thumb stroking her breast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleight of hand, she thought. Keep her attention diverted to move pieces unseen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t very good at it. In fact, he was downright poor, because the noise had ceased, meaning that he was done, and his hand moved to her other breast rather than stopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re surprisingly relaxed,” Jack remarked. His tone was suspicious but filled with wonder. He’d always been apt at contradictions like that. “I’m almost tempted to keep you like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be. I’m trying to lull you into a false sense of security.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh. A breath, soft and warm. Another kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleight of hand. Keep his attention diverted so that </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>hands might slip behind her, her body coil like a spring and release, breaking the driver’s seat off its base and slamming it into Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he had not seen any of that coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distracted by his own distraction, of all things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you.” He’d had to twist his body diagonally to avoid having his legs flattened by the sudden absence of space between seats. Then, pushed on his back, had to maneuver himself into a less exposed position, losing his remaining grip on her. Valerie snatched the sword from where she’d tossed it, then went for the syringe which she’d sent flying out of his hand upon crashing. The one he’d been moments away from sticking in her neck. “What’s this, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d regained his bearings and grabbed it before she could, but no matter. She’d just put thirty inches of sharpened askara between them, and he couldn’t manifest more tentacles without turning the car into an even more cramped environment, making it hazardous to fight in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tranquilizer. It would only have put you out for a short while.” Although Valerie was surprised that he answered without needing to be badgered, the defensive edge to his tone was nothing but predictable. Jack did have a medium-long history of attempted poisonings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lovely</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she drawled. “Would I have woken up with your dick between my legs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack's mouth fell open. Whether it did from shock or outrage paled in significance when compared with his loss of focus on the syringe, which Valerie didn’t waste an instant in twisting out of his hand. There was no change in his stance or countenance; his eyes didn’t leave her face as she held the thing up, thumb poised on the plunger. She might believe he hadn’t even taken notice of it vanishing from his grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when she was on the brink of wondering whether she’d gone and broken him, Jack found his voice. The way he spoke, stilted and halting, did little to assuage her doubts. He certainly sounded as though he were having some type of malfunction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> would that possibility even occur to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remind me, what was your hand doing just now?” she snipped, watching the look of him morph from livid to the awkward, skittering cageyness of a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’d never force me. And if you lie . . . at least do me the courtesy of lying well enough that I buy it.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more Jack stared at her, wearing that expression which in another set of circumstances she might have found comical, cheeks coloring </span>
  <em>
    <span>pink</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things, the more Valerie felt queasy. Overly light. Cotton in her head and chest. Mouth tasting like battery acid, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he was giving her nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No sloppy lie, no denial. Just silence and, after what felt like two eternities stacked up, a heavy sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t do anything while you were unconscious.” She had leveled the sword with his chin, but Jack didn’t even appear to recognize that he was a breath away from a perforated windpipe. “Anything else I’d do to you . . . it won’t be bad, Val. Swear on my mother’s life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Which one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the one you barely remember who is dead, or the heinous rotten bitch who is also dead?” Rotten was what she felt, too. Valerie wished she could turn back time, make it so that she hadn’t asked, unknow it all. She couldn’t bear to look at him without feeling the compulsion to hurl something, but couldn’t turn her gaze anywhere else. “You would – </span>
  <em>
    <span>you would. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why? Where do you think it would get you? How do you envision it going, please </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> explain. You fuck me so well that, what, my brain dribbles out of my ears and I beg you to do it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was his whole face flushed, and he who didn’t seem able to meet her eyes. Valerie chanced a quick glance past his head, checking whether the others might cook up additional trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Far from it, the men still conscious were dispersed at a rather conservative distance from the jeep, Rem shaking his head to something Byron was saying whilst tapping a finger against his temple. Brown Tentacles stood looking like he wouldn’t mind a bucket of popcorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lot of them couldn’t telegraph ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not paid enough to get involved in whatever crazy drama is going on over there</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ more starkly if they tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ideally, we’d make up before anything else ensued.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ideally</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Glad to have established that you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>out of your godsdamned mind</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> one way or another.” Jack was beginning to sound less as though he were admitting a mortifying secret and more exasperated, as if he were convinced that there was a piece of his chain of thought that she was missing and which would, once it fell in place, make everything appear reasonable and logical. “If you haven’t enjoyed yourself by the time I’m through, I’ll eat my heart out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you try to put </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> in me that isn’t bullets or a knife, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll eat it out for you</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” She was screaming now, and the screaming fast devolving into wordless snarling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Jack’s hand closed around her wrist and she outright growled. His touch was light, fingers spreading out over her knuckles instead of gripping and twisting, as if he meant to only hold her hand and didn’t even contemplate disarming her. Valerie pulled away and shoved him back, but he refused to budge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to make things right. This,” Jack gestured at the syringe, encompassing the sword as an afterthought, “isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’ll realize that we were never meant to be fighting, once you’ve gone a while with that no longer being an option. It’ll be the same way between us that it used to be, only more. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> how it used to be, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stared at him, wishing her eyes hadn’t started prickling in that disquieting way that always had her uncertain whether the tears they threatened to spill came from a well of grief that never seemed close to drying, or as a physiological reaction to unsustainable levels of abject spitting ire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d liked how it used to be. She hadn’t wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Once she’d realized that Jack would never renege his pre-existing loyalty to Marabeth or his dislike of Mrs. Drakma, once she’d come to accept that he would not fight alongside her, that the best one could expect was that he help in whatever small ways he could manage within the existing constraints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack Aramis would never be a hero or even a good person, but he’d been her friend who was trying</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not saving anyone, but nor causing harm. For as long as that held true, Valerie had been content and at peace with where they each stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would never cease to gall her that the asshole still dared to act as if their fallout had resulted from a failure to meet unreasonably high expectations, when the only standard of behavior she’d held Jack to at the time had gone along the lines of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t be a complete monster who destroys people for a living.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the record,” she said, unable to regard him with detachment – it felt as though wild animals trampled inside her ribcage – but good enough at feigning it, “just now, when I went ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>’? That wasn’t an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, he got one over me and I’m in trouble</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’. That was more of an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, this saves me the trouble of chasing him down</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val. At least try to–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved closer. She stabbed him with the syringe and emptied it in his shoulder without thinking twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack lifted a hand to the punctured spot, frowning like he didn’t quite grasp what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-o,” she said, clearly. Watched his eyelids flutter, then drop, and although she’d been convinced that he wouldn’t slip away without some last pithy retort, Jack’s eyes stayed closed and his head lolled to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie fished for his arm, watched the rise and fall of his chest. Breaths, slowing. Pulse, waning. He slumped onto his side while she pulled the driver’s seat to its original position and retrieved the blaster to shoot him twice in quick succession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly to make double sure that the lights had gone out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also because after everything, she badly felt like shooting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. Now for the next step.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Old Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>FLASHBACK CHAPTER!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Valeriana Lazur was twenty years old, drowning in blue linen and on her way to fainting from a combination of heat, breathing difficulties and the overwhelming impression that a higher power had put a finger to her life and tilted it sideways. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she chanted under her breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is great. This is fine. It’ll be worth it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The senior seamstress pulled a string here, tightened a stitch there, squeezing her smaller fraction by fraction, making the dress a prison with nary a pause. Extraneous fabric succumbed to scissors — </span>
  <em>
    <span>snip, snip</span>
  </em>
  <span> — and a trio of needles tacked the gap shut, upheld by slender green limbs. More of those flew around Valeriana, who couldn’t dream of letting her gaze follow them, lest her head spin worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must leave some room here and there, or it won’t come off afterwards.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s . . . thank you.” Valeriana struggled to keep relief from flooding her face. The senior seamstress prodded her with the blunt end of a tentacle, adjusting the space between fabric and flesh until satisfied that there was more of it, but not that much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a look, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had a look. The reflection shown by the full-length mirror stationed opposite to the fitting podium was underwhelming. She was herself in a blue dress. Pale, long, gangly limbs, dark hair painstakingly tamed, a rounded face from which a pair of likewise dark eyes peered with caution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gorgeous,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The senior seamstress beamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, a crash sounded nearby. Valeriana stopped herself from jumping by reasoning that the clatter came from outside. It couldn’t, therefore, be something they might hold her accountable for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brittle calm was short-lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another apprentice seamstress slipped inside the room, looking harried enough to give Valeriana a pang of unwitting sympathy. Her heart plummeted in sudden, startled dismay when the girl, spotting her, headed straight for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady, my lady, your brother!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s only saving grace lay in remembering, before a damning ‘brother what brother I don’t have a brother’ left her lips, that for all intents and purposes and as far as the staff of Modona Textiles knew, the moody creature holed up in one of the adjoining fitting rooms was her dear beloved sibling rather than a male of no relation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t regret lying. Being out in public with Jack was certain to lead to much murmuring, what with him having recently steeped himself in scandal. No one in the capital gave a whit about what the youngest Lazur girl got up to, but they’d be interested in any woman spotted in such dismal company, if only so that they could place bets on how long it would take for some ghastly fate to befall her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods be good, what did he do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder seamstress’ lips made a grim wrinkle and her hand an impatient gesture, urging her to go sort out whatever it was so that they could get on with deciding on embroidery patterns. Valeriana hurried out, firing apologies at the two women, anyone else who might be within earshot, the world at large. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, they directed her to a dressing room two curtains over, which she padded towards with the uneasy trepidation of someone entering forbidden territory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the men’s section. If it got out that she’d been seen here, there’d be no escaping the wrong sort of talk. Her father would shame her out of the family. The twins would make snide remarks. Tessalia might strangle her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seamstresses attending that section didn’t seem about to tell her off for wandering in, appearing more relieved by her appearance than anything. The only boy of the lot, no older than sixteen in true age, stood off to the side looking close to tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Valeriana demanded. Before leaving for her fitting, she had given the staff detailed instructions on how to wrangle Jack into something resembling compliance. She had given Jack himself a speech on how important it was that he behave in a civilized fashion. Somehow, things had gotten all twisted. “There was this awful racket coming from here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her best friend — standing on the fitting podium in his underclothes, arms crossed and working up an almighty sulk — jerked his chin toward the trembling apprentice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing happened. The butterfingered moron just dropped a tray.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you being rude and frightening towards him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack glowered. Behind him, the two seamstresses — Valeriana had requested that he be attended by a pair of them, on the assumption that one of them was bound to annoy him to the point of dismissal — wore identical weary, dogged expressions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seamstresses traded a glance, but remained tight-lipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana heaved a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have they taken your measurements yet?” The tape the taller seamstress wound fretfully around her hand told Valeriana that no, they had not, even as Jack’s lips parted to lie. “It’s been an hour. Your suit won’t get done in time for tomorrow if you keep stalling. This . . . doesn’t have to be the ordeal you insist on making it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I didn’t need to be dragged in here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had. Valeriana had not hesitated to ignore him, aware that the rift between Jack and his family would only mend if he were to do two things: swallow his pride and improve his wardrobe. Since either would take a lifetime for him to do if left to his own devices, she’d appointed herself his custodian in the matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tugged him off the fitting podium and pulled him aside, lowering the volume of her chiding while the seamstresses made a show of busying themselves with tasks that excused them from staring at the pair of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to be dressed as befits the occasion. It’s a ball at the Glass Tower, not a . . . gathering of drunks at the Charuin Gardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A ball which I also told you I had no intention of showing up for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your aunt will be in attendance.” Valeriana disliked rehashing arguments, especially ones she recalled winning. “Your brother and father won’t be, so your usual excuse to escape social events does not apply. If you hide from her forever, she’ll stay angry at you forever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shot her an annoyed look but didn’t present an immediate rebuttal. Often the case whenever she had the right of it in a way that he couldn’t find arguments to demolish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so invested in us making up? I never got the impression that you were fond of her.” Valeriana shrugged, noncommittal. She had nothing against Lady Marabeth, save for the fact that the woman scared her witless. Her feelings were not a relevant factor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re upset that she isn’t talking to you, and I dislike seeing you upset.” She sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she breathed, in, out. “Be nice for three whole minutes. Let these ladies take the measurements they need to at least get started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You realize that this won’t fix anything? Aunt Marabeth couldn’t care less about my reputation or how I dress. She’s seething about me getting expelled from Charuin. I will not impress her by prancing like a peacock in front of the lifeless slime balls who attend these events.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I attend them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get a say in the matter, though, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It got through to him that it had been a low hit. His face went an odd color as it blanched and flushed with scant seconds of reprieve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No harm done. Listen,” Valeriana added, taking on a cheerful tone that worked well on him . . . about forty percent of the time. “You are getting a suit made. You will go to the ball looking like a gentleman, talk to a lot of important people, drink in moderation and have a fun and lovely evening. You’ll show everyone, but most especially Lady Marabeth, that getting into fights and poisoning your classmates is not all there is to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calpurnia had it coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter! You disfigured the grandniece of a sitting member of the High Council, Jack! If your father weren’t on there too, you might have gotten yourself sent to prison!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I reassert: she absolutely had it coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. If not for yourself, then try for me. I won’t have myself seen dancing with you if you show up wearing one of your usual ensembles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late she remembered that she couldn’t promise him a dance, not tomorrow evening, possibly never again. Another incoming change she hadn’t yet taken the time to dwell on. Suddenly her mouth felt dry and her surroundings appeared hazy, the floor insubstantial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be fine. It would be worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization drove home that she would need to tell Jack. Soon. The longer she delayed, the more she’d start feeling as though she were stalling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She steered Jack back towards the stand; he scowled with exaggerated offense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In what way are my usual clothes not up to your standards?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re very—” Valeriana waved at the pile of garments plopped on a nearby divan. “Very West Earth. And colorless. Downright drab. None of those things are fashionable.” She turned pleading eyes to the seamstresses, hoping for a word of support, but the prospect of being left alone with Jack once she excused herself tied their tongues. Which he didn’t fail to notice and didn’t waste time looking smug about. She swatted the air around his hair, annoyed. “I mean it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t stalling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no godly reason she should want to, nor did she have grounds to feel like she was hiding a secret. She’d tell once they were somewhere private. Or perhaps it would be best to ease him in, start by dropping hints . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed to tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see I’m left with no choice but to defer to your expertise,” Jack drawled. It might be wishful thinking, but he seemed to eye her dress, or what would be her dress once lined with thread within an inch of its miserly fabric life, with what passed for an appreciative expression. “I’m still not wearing anything in a color that puts me in mind of a fruit bowl. I’m aware of your tricksy ways by now, Valeriana dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana made another swipe at his head, this time managing to cuff his ear when he ducked in the wrong direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d tell him. Later.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>♖</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jack let himself be talked into buying three formal suits: one silver and gold, one paisley patterned, one dark blue. They would be ready for picking up later the next day, in time for him not to arrive at the ball unfashionably late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s own dress, she’d been assured, would be finished by midday. There’d be time to ask for alterations if anything went wrong. Assuming that everything that could go wrong would go wrong wasn’t something Valeriana consciously made a sport of, but she maintained a consistent habit of it regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t have any lips left if you keep chewing them like that.” Jack, back with drinks, seized the chair across from her and swiped a hand over the table to clear a layer of dead azalea flowers before setting the glass bowls down. “What’s wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing!” Her voice might have squeaked a little. Might have. Valeriana snatched the nearest bowl, stirred the ice through the fruit and took a large gulp once it stopped smoking. Her tongue and throat objected at once. “Nng. Sorry, I think I grabbed yours by mistake. Here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack watched her with one eyebrow arched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” he repeated. Lowering his voice, although here there was no need. The topmost level of the Hanging Palace was as secluded a place as could exist in bustling Alkarosh. It saw few patrons, since it wasn’t as extensively restored as the rest of the eatery. The tables and chairs were carved from stone and not too comfortable, and it boasted an abundance of overgrown plants and parakeets. The stairs were also a bit of a climb, and one needed to ensure that drinks remained covered so that no random bird droppings would fall in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, Valeriana liked it. It was quiet, and they were the only ones there. If Jack were to shout at the news she was about to deliver, he wouldn’t be heard at street level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped that there wouldn’t be shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s . . .” This was it. She’d started. No turning back now, or she’d lose her nerve. Only it seemed to have gone already, all of it, not a shred left. Feeling deflated, Valeriana settled her gaze on the azalea tree looming behind Jack’s head, her eyes unable to stop skidding away when he tried to meet them. “My sisters. They’ll be showing up here once they’ve done their shopping. I didn’t tell Ange and Bells that we would meet. As far as they know, Tess was taking me out to get that dress. They may be appalled to find you here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should care about those pretentious pit vipers and their sensibilities why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t badmouth them. You’ve never heard me speak ill of Berthold, have you?” It occurred to Valeriana that she’d overlooked flying into a suitable amount of panic at the notion of her sisters catching them together. They wouldn’t approve. They approved of very little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember ever asking you to refrain.” Jack propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward in the fashion of someone who hadn’t had teachers drill proper posture and manners into him with a wooden ruler. “In fact, had I known that the option existed, I’d have encouraged it. Now I feel cheated. Imagine what an excellent time we could have had maligning that bastard together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t call him that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, deceptively innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? It’s not inaccurate. He is a bastard. And not even full Tsikalayan to boot.” Yet also the only son whose existence Jack’s father acknowledged without needing to be arm wrestled into doing it. A fact that Jack himself worked hard to pretend didn’t bother him, as if he could hope to fool her. “Let’s not start about him, though. We were on the subject of . . . whatever you were about to say before you clammed up and brought up your sisters to save face.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s head jerked up from the drink she’d been half-heartedly nursing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not,” she spluttered. Jack shot her a look over the rim of his glass, saying nothing while taking another swig. The quirk of his mouth told her he wasn’t buying it. “Didn’t. Speaking of, do you plan to go back to Lenosh if your aunt forgives you and rethinks the whole matter of you—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were we speaking of anything near that topic? Pardon me, I hadn’t noticed.” Jack shook his head and affected a sigh. The impish glint in his eye suggested that he was more amused than annoyed by her clumsy attempts to steer around the topic which — what was wrong with her? She should tell him. Especially now. Having twigged that there was something to unearth, Jack wouldn’t rest until he did so. “I’ll play along, but once we’ve exhausted this terribly strategic change of subject, I expect you to spill whatever’s eating you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. Since it interests you so much, I’ll be heading home irrespective of Aunt Marabeth forgiving me. Charuin Academy won’t take me back, so there’s nothing left for me here. If she insists on barring me from Blackburn Hill, I’ll go bother my father for a roof instead.” Jack set his glass down, tracking her movements as she crossed and uncrossed her ankles under the table. Valeriana expected him to pounce at any moment, but he only looked thoughtful. “You really don’t like talking about whatever it is, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhn.” Why? Why, though? The news was good, amazing even. Jack would overreact, Valeriana knew in her gut that he would, but only because he was dreadful at processing change. Knowing that, knowing that he’d come around and be happy for her after the inevitable five minute meltdown, she ought to hurry and get that unpleasant portion over with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her tongue remained tied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must seem wretched. Jack didn’t even try to exploit her anxious dithering and get her to crack, only rolling his eyes to let her know she was behaving ridiculously. Valeriana couldn’t summon the nerve to protest, since for once he was correct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When will you go back, anyway? The official mating call dance season must be nearing its end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was sure that even the roots of her hair had turned red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t call it that.” As grateful as she was that he had allowed another detour, she felt the softer parts of her shrivel up in mortified revulsion. She never could decide, when Jack started talking like this, if she was glad he found it all so deplorable or envious that he got away with having that point of view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? I find it both an adequate and accurate descriptor.” Jack leaned back, grinning at her expression. “It’s a yearly conglomeration of events that exist for dressing up and trying to entice someone to put a dagger through your hand and their c—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana fished a piece of kiwifruit out of her glass and threw it before something even more tasteless left his mouth. It bounced off his forehead and fell on his open palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack eyed it. He eyed her. She sensed the danger, but wasn’t out of her chair fast enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do—n’t you dare!” Valeriana remembered a split second into opening her mouth that it wasn’t a good idea to shriek, because people on the street wouldn’t hear, but whoever sat one floor below might. She batted at the approaching hand, squirming against the arm around her waist. His hold was unrelenting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You assaulted me first!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you were about to be crass! You’re not making me eat that!” With a huff, she extricated herself and ducked under his arm. He made a token attempt to prevent her escape before shrugging and plopping the fruit in his mouth instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t about to make you eat it,” he told her, pausing to chew and swallow and enjoy her grossed out grimace before adding: “I was going to put it down the back of your dress.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s evil.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You started it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still evil.” To Valeriana’s aggravation, he only laughed and returned to his seat, beckoning her to follow. She glared and spent an unnecessary moment picking invisible lint from her skirts before sinking in place, sniffing primly. “I don’t know when I’ll be going back to Lenosh. Or even if I’ll return there at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack ceased smiling so abruptly that, were her heart not hammering at two times its normal pace, it might have skipped a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . .” Sweet darkness, there was something wrong, something with her tongue or all of her, because it was again stumbling against her teeth, preventing her from getting the words out. “You see, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Valeriana!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never had the sound of her name being screamed out in anger brought greater relief. Jack, who’d rested his chin on his hand to provide the perfect picture of intent listening, moved it up and pressed his fingers against his temples, groaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana gave him an apologetic look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you they’d — why are you getting up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wine. Will be back shortly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But neither of them likes—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For myself, Val.” He was away faster than she could blink, and much faster than the incensed whorls of pale pink — Angelica — and royal purple — Belladonna — bore down upon them. Valeriana got no time to focus on the rascally betrayal before the pair stood before her, casting a shadow over the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you out of your mind?” Belladonna spoke up first. Angelica would have, but the other twin stood looking at the arch Jack had fled through with her head tilted and mouth agape, scandalized speechless. “You’re out. Alone. With a man. Today? Considering tomorrow? What were you thinking, you insensate, unmitigated idiot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only Jack,” Valeriana protested, to no avail. The twins were too stringent about keeping up appearances to attend to the fact that Jack Aramis might as well be her brother by blood. “We just came here from Modona. He needed a suit made, and I was already going there to get my dress—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tessalia was supposed to take you. Where is she?” Angelica looked around, scanning their surroundings as though she expected their missing sibling to jump out from behind one of the big flower pots. When that failed to happen, she jammed a finger down on the table, next to the empty glasses. If the top had been wood or tile, it would have cracked. “Did you forget to turn your brain on this morning? You can’t take him clothes shopping. Garda knows someone needs to do something about his absolute lack of dress sense, but it can’t be you! If father even dreams you did this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell him.” Valeriana wasn’t above begging. The thought of her father learning what she’d been up to was enough to turn her stomach. “Please don’t tell him. He won’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one understands. No one! It’s unfathomable that you are this irresponsible!” The twins were abandoning and picking up each other’s sentences, leaving Valeriana’s eyes swiveling between them and her head spinning with the effort of following who was talking. “The way the two of you carry on at home was already shocking, but to pull this one day before the Glass Tower ball? That’s more foolish than even you should be capable of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you two planning to stop howling any time this century?” Jack’s voice reached them before the man himself appeared. Valeriana supposed he must have run downstairs and back up in record time, the alternative being that he’d tackled the first server bearing alcohol he’d come across. He offered the twins a mocking wave on his way to retake his seat. They returned identical stares of frosty rage. “Well? Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twins glared. Belladonna’s left eye twitched like she was considering slapping him. The only way civility would have wanted less to do with the situation would be if Tessalia or her father were there also, a scenario so terrifying Valeriana dared not contemplate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you playing at, Aramis?” Belladonna had to stand on her tiptoes so she could snarl in Jack’s face, which Valeriana knew irked her. All her sisters still acted like it was a sudden and nasty shock that he was no longer a scrawny thing half their size, easy to swat away. “Are you trying to disgrace her? Is that what you are aiming for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Jack sat down, ignoring the irate facade and the purple parasol brandished at him like a spear. He took the glass sitting upside down over the neck of the wine bottle and let the pink-red liquid stream in before tipping it in Valeriana’s direction. “Pomegranate, since I couldn’t convince them to surrender the contraband Black Chira they have stashed down back. Can I tempt you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, Angelica made a noise like something had died in her windpipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you may not tempt her! She should not be drinking in your company. She should not be in your company to begin with! Honestly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one requested your thoughts on the matter, Pink.” He grinned in an annoyingly ingratiating manner and winked in Valeriana’s direction as if she hadn’t spent the last half minute kicking his foot and praying that at some point he’d stop winding the twins up. “Is it just me, or are your charmless sisters somehow even more unbearable than usual today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be this humid weather we’ve been having that’s making them fester. Shame; had I known, I’d have gotten more wine.” He cast a mournful look at the bottle. Valeriana gave up on kicking him. What point was there? It only seemed to encourage him. “Or the ladies could do everyone a favor and go haunt another venue for the rest of the afternoon, how about that? I promise to return your sister before sundown, undisgraced and mostly sober.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana buried her face in her hands and let her hair fan over them, wanting nothing more than to vanish as she steeled her nerves to prepare for a fresh round of shrieking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s words were instead met by silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was somehow more frightening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm,” she began, feeling both out of the loop and apprehensive as wordless communication exchanged between the twins. They nodded at one another, of one mind on whatever the matter was, and turned to opposite sides, Angelica so that she was facing her while pointing a finger at Jack, Belladonna so that she could regale him with the foulest look in existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t know? You haven’t told him yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Jack managed a semblance of interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told me what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t told him!” Belladonna moaned, throwing up her hands, head shaking back and forth. “Val, for crying out loud!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . .” Valeriana began, but she was lost, because her sisters were right, and she’d known that they were right, that being the exact reason why upon entering Modona’s earlier, she’d said ‘brother’ and not ‘friend’. “I know, I know, I was about to, I’m sorr—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was she supposed to have told me?” Jack demanded, dragging his eyes over the lot of them as if they belonged to some unknown, mayhap poisonous species.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belladonna sighed, features pinched, and turned to give Valeriana an incredulous snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your future on the line, and you who will need to explain yourself to our father if you make this arrangement fall through, and it defies belief that you still went and . . .” Her sister trailed off before rearing back and stalking around the table to stop in front of Jack, sight narrowing on a spot of nothingness halfway up the space separating them before leaning in to hiss at him. “She’s been matched. She can’t carry on gallivanting in your deplorable company. If she ruins this, our father will wash his hands of her. Now, for some of us, getting thrown out does not translate to spending the season lazing around in a guest house, so if you have a shred of decency or care for our sister, you will take your leave forthwith. There, Val. Is that so hard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clink of a glass bottle shattering against the tiles botched Valeriana’s attempt to stutter a reply. Jack’s elbow had knocked it over as he stood. His mouth made odd, pulling motions that one might mistake for spasms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matched?” he spat, turning to Valeriana, seeming to beg her to tell him he’d understood wrong. It was both a better and worse reaction than she’d prepared for. Jack looked like he’d just discovered he was about to be hit by a freight train, but his voice remained at conversational volume. “What do you mean, matched?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darkness take me, you’re hopeless,” Angelica sighed, lifting a delicate hand to her brow as though the effort of enlightening him was entirely too much. “Someone asked for her. As a mate. And he’s suitable, or at least as good as she can hope for given her condition, so all parties involved would appreciate it if you refrained from tainting her with your continued association.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not tainting me,” Valeriana mumbled, wishing that she could hide from the twins’ judgmental eyes and Jack’s petrified face. His right hand shook. She reached out to squeeze it still until she remembered that it would only cause Angelica and Belladonna to double down. The best she could do was softly ask: “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mated?” He all but spewed out the word, his features twisting as if it were the sourest thing to ever pass his lips, tapping his right foot on the ground, looking ready to grasp the edge of the table and overturn it, glasses and all. “Mated. And the lucky fellow’s name would be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He—” Valeriana began. Angelica cut her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him anything else. There’s a reason it took this long for a man to dare make a serious offer.” Here Angelica shot Jack an indecipherable but pointed stare, holding it for a spell. Once she understood that no response would be forthcoming because her target was too stupefied to note his surroundings, she huffed. “Count yourself lucky that you’ll even get invited to the ceremony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll . . . be going.” Jack stepped away from the table, his stare fixed on nothing and not sounding anything like himself. He paused, reached for the surviving wine glass and emptied it as he elbowed his way past Angelica and Belladonna, who eeped in unison and belted out simultaneous complaints about his rudeness. Valeriana took half a second to regain her bearings and call after him, but he’d wasted no time vanishing inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A purple limb smacked her on the shoulder, hard, when she made to follow. She gasped and reached to rub the smarting spot, giving the twins an opening to wrestle her back into her chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let him go, you silly, soppy pile of mush.” Belladonna shook her head as she sat down beside her, blocking her escape route. “He had his chance and let it go to waste, and that’s his problem. Although you remain an idiot for putting yourself in this situation to begin with — gods, breathe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t . . . I didn’t even get to explain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain what? This was always going to happen.” While that was true, it didn’t make Valeriana feel any less devastated. She’d had a speech, stuck somewhere in a corner of her mind, and she didn’t know what Jack’s reaction would have been if the twins hadn’t shown up, if the words hadn’t fled her each time she’d tried to bring them to her lips, but any argument they might have had would have been a step up from leaving as he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit her then that he might give the ball a miss. Which would leave them with no chance to talk, and who could say when she’d meet him again, because she couldn’t go out of her way to see him until after she was mated, and even then it was possible that she wouldn’t be allowed—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Valeriana, lungs. Use them before you faint on us.” Angelica placed a hand on her arm with a mildly alarmed expression, as though she feared that she’d tumble to the side without something to sustain her. Belladonna bookended her from the other side, appearing not so much worried as she did testy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s really, truly, honestly not worth getting this worked up about. He’ll either get over it or not, and you’d have to give him up regardless.” Her sister’s words were . . . not unkind. Neither was Angelica’s expression as she nodded her agreement. Valeriana wondered how miserable she must look, to have convinced them to hold a ceasefire. “Men don’t share, you realize that, don’t you? You may still get to speak with him at social gatherings, but everything else . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . is the price you pay for being the first one who gets to leave that burial mound of a house,” Angelica completed. This, too, was kind, that she would say it as though it were an achievement, something to envy. As though by finding a suitable match, she’d beat them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no race. The twins were not running; they strolled leisurely. Their father might not love them, but since he didn’t loathe them and had a more favorable impression of their worth, he indulged them. They weren’t made to feel as though every year since reaching maturity was another they’d outstayed their welcome. Angelica and Belladonna could browse through suitors and be as picky as they liked, having no pressing need to take the first suitable option and make themselves scarce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t get to dally around forever either.” Belladonna might have read her thoughts. “He’ll start pushing us too once we’re in our fifties. It’s not like we are Tess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talking about me behind my back, Bells?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belladonna’s squawk of surprise would have been funny under less strained circumstances. As it was, Valeriana only summoned the will to nod in greeting as her elder sister stalked through the archway and laid claim to a spare chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sneak up on people!” Angelica snapped, though she shuffled over to give Tessalia a space at their table. “Where in darkness have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia ignored the question and motioned behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that Jack Aramis who I just saw scuttling out of here looking about to do a murder?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! You were meant to take this idiot to Modona for a dress, and she went there with him instead. Didn’t tell him about the match either, we had to break the news for her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That explains that face, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where were you?” This time it was Belladonna who insisted, sounding tetchy. Tessalia, who had noticed the glass and spilled wine under the table and had been scrutinizing them with a questioning expression, shrugged, unfazed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doing actual work on your lazy behalf, as it so happens. Behold! The guest list for tomorrow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twins trilled and bent over the table as if they’d coordinated the motion, reaching for the ivory white booklets laid out before them. Their hands were smacked away, Tessalia smiling at them in that way of hers that never failed to make Valeriana uneasy. It had less effect on the twins; perhaps you could gain immunity to it, as with silver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is the polite thing to say if we’d like someone to give us something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana sighed, grateful that attention had drifted away from her but not looking forward to the eleven thousandth round of her sisters snipping at one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dynamic between the four of them had always, for reasons including but not limited to insurmountable age gaps, mismatched personalities and parental favoritism, been odd. Valeriana supposed that she might have it easy. The others viewed her so much as an overgrown, simpleminded child, that she was more prone to rouse their pity and exasperation than hostility. Living at the bottom of the hierarchy of their father’s affections also meant that she didn’t have to put up with jealousy, like Tessalia did by dint of being the unambiguous golden child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the twins got along. Mostly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” Angelica sounded like someone eating poison. Belladonna echoed her in the least beseeching way imaginable. “Please, dear sister, would you grant us the boon of the knowledge which you so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have it, you’re insufferable. Both of you. Val at least doesn’t require nannying.” Tessalia cast a sideways glance in Valeriana’s direction, letting her know that she absolutely thought nannying was required, but hadn’t been willing to pass up the chance to hit the twins where it would be most vexing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Azar, Lord Jadras, Lord Valmis.” Belladonna halted her scrutiny of the list to pull a face. “Ugh, why is every unmated man who holds a title at least eight thousand years old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trevesse’s name is here. He isn’t that old,” Angelica countered, nose buried in her own booklet. “However, his right to his father’s title is still disputed, so he’s a waste of time until that gets settled. Bremker will attend too, and he’s a surer bet, but there was talk about a match between him and Calpurnia Milacros—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—which he won’t go through with, for obvious reasons.” Belladonna twisted her features so that they were as grotesque as she could make them, going to the trouble of shifting an extra limb to loop under her hair and around her head, to trick the eye into thinking it grew from it. Angelica laughed. Valeriana couldn’t see the humor, no matter how hard she tried. “Historical instance of Jack Aramis doing something useful. Val, did you get him to fess up to what he dosed her with? Because I can think of a few other faces that could do with a bit of a lift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not sporting to poison the competition,” Tessalia admonished. “If you want to make progress and find someone decent sometime this century, work on your conversation skills. You may have a decent face and all your limbs accounted for, but that’s a low bar to clear. Find a subject to talk about that isn’t gossip or planting things. That diatribe you subjected Councilman Meere to last week, about the variance of acidity in different types of soil? No one cares about soil acidity except you, Bells.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And farmers, one supposes,” Valeriana risked, to be met with blank stares. “Erm. I don’t get a—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You need not worry about the list. There’s just one person you’ll be focusing on tomorrow evening, and I trust that by now you have memorized the file I gave you on him. All that’s required is that you do nothing to make him take back his offer. Which I’m certain you won’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twins looked less certain. Belladonna in particular looked dubious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You trust her enough to believe she won’t mess up? Did you miss the part where this idiot went out, in public, with a man notorious for irredeemably disgracing another eligible young woman? Because that decision doesn’t scream ‘sound judgment’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calling Val eligible is a stretch,” Tessalia remarked, unflinchingly and unapologetically. “Calling what he did to Calpurnia ‘disgracing’ is misrepresentation, since it makes the business sound more salacious than how I understand it went. Aramis obliterated her ability to shift in a very unsightly manner; it’s not like he slept with her. That aside, both of you know full well that Val is stupid—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—when it comes to that boy, and that he is an abject moron about her in return. Hopefully, this development will go a ways towards changing that. If not, it will all be over soon either way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana, who’d gathered the nerve to square her shoulders and stop tucking her chin against her chest like a distressed turtle, caught the look that passed between her sisters in the silence that ensued. She wasn’t included in whatever message they exchanged, which, since she suspected she was the subject being wordlessly discussed, didn’t sit right with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Angelica said, nodding knowingly. “Like that, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia shot her a dirty look, like the twin had made a misstep. Belladonna cleared her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go order us drinks, Val.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana went. When she returned, conversation had meandered back to the guest list and remained there, not touching her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>♖</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana spent much of the ride to the Glass Tower focusing on the movement of wheels over cobblestones, using the back-and-forth jostling of the carriage as her cue to breathe in and out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her left, Belladonna lay slumped against the window, mellowed out by the heat and sound asleep. On her right, Angelica fought to stop herself from following suit by fanning herself with increasing desperation. Tessalia, sitting across from them next to their father, didn’t have a bead of sweat anywhere in sight and appeared blissfully unbothered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was little variance between climates on isles of the Central Archipelago, but unlike neighboring Lenosh, Alkarosh had been raised on swamp land. Back home, days were scorching but dry. Here the temperature might be a little lower, since they headed towards the seaside, but was worse to handle for its dampness. With every breath, Valeriana felt as though she were inhaling soup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the sky was a pure black curtain speckled with white and red stars, the night abuzz with swarms of insects. Since the area they traversed smelled of the sweet, pungent earthiness of plants decomposing in stagnant waters rather than the fresh salt of the sea, they still had a ways to go before they reached the Glass Tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. The shallow puff of breath made her father turn his attention away from the window and pin her with a hard stare, instantly causing her heart to gallop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything on your mind, Valeriana?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what was that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N—nothing, father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held her eye. Valeriana had met no one who could glare like Haldon Lazur. Even Jack at his most ticked off couldn’t hold a candle to that armored ice. It was dressing down unto itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ruin tonight. Smile. Beam. Please Maltos in whichever way you can and by all the gods, don’t talk unless he requests it. Requirements so simple that even you should be able to meet them — and I trust that you understand the consequences if you do not. Am I clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t disappoint you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression communicated in no uncertain terms what he thought; that it was too little, too late for that, seeing as she’d been a disappointment since the day she’d been born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia dropped the notes she was reviewing and clicked her tongue against her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll do fine. I’ll be watching over her and intervene if needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That does reassure me.” It would, coming from the only daughter he loved. Her father swept a hand across her sister’s forehead in as affectionate a gesture as he ever showed anyone. Valeriana didn’t share the twins’s virulent jealousy of Tessalia’s status as the favorite, but still the sight stung. None the least because her sister didn’t appreciate it, issuing a gurgling shriek and patting her hairline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father, I spent hours on this! Gods!” Tessalia’s hand dove in her handbag and whisked out a small mirror. Belladonna, not so asleep after all, made a noise that did a poor job of pretending it wasn’t a disdainful snort. Angelica was more interested in swatting a mosquito that had wiggled through the nets covering the windows. Reassured that her hair was nothing other than pristine, Tessalia put the mirror away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little else was said for the rest of the journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The carriage came to a shambling halt by the entrance to the Glass Tower gardens. Their father got out first. A pair of slaves rushed to help with the trains of the dresses as each sister climbed down. Valeriana stepped off and was promptly bitten by something. It flew away before she could extract retribution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trotted behind her family through the labyrinth of shrubs and succulents. Valeriana had been at the Glass Tower only once, three years back. It seldom hosted events, being located outside the city and having the topmost of its fifteen floors in almost perpetual disrepair. The heavy winds in the area made quick work of the windows higher up. They’d been fixed for the occasion and glittered merrily under the starlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana wondered whether Jack would appear. Tessalia had obtained an update on the guest list early that afternoon. His name had still been on it, but he wasn’t the type to send prior notice excusing himself, so she’d only know for sure once she arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would . . . it would be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, they went their separate ways. The twins disappeared together, as always. Her father spotted a known face among the guests and wandered off, though not without sending Valeriana a parting glare. Tessalia, as promised, stuck by her and steered her to the staircase leading up to the second story, a wide balcony overlooking the ballroom. They leaned over the railing, her sister studying the people below, Valeriana training her eyes on her feet and struggling to stop herself from fidgeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Tessalia mused. “He decided to show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Valeriana asked, but then she saw a familiar figure cut through the crowd, looking around as though in search of something. A tentative smile formed on her lips. Since it had been Tessalia who had drawn her attention to him in the first place, she felt safe in remarking: “Oh. That’s good. After the way he left yesterday, I was afraid he might not come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I presume that the fact that he looks presentable is your doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana started nodding, but then took a closer look and realized that there’d been more change than just new clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He got his hair cut,” she said, as Jack’s eyes found hers. She knew without a doubt that it was her he’d been hunting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having found her, however, he didn’t head for the stairs but halted, the people and the slaves moving around him, his expression more cryptic than Tessalia’s, whose features had melted from benevolently superior into something unreadable and not altogether reassuring. Valeriana tried to convince her stomach to stop doing pinwheels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go,” her sister told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana stared at her, nonplussed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go down there. Find somewhere where you can be seen but not heard, so it doesn’t look like you are sneaking off. Talk to him.” Valeriana’s face was blank with shock rather than inability to parse what she’d heard, but Tessalia took it for the latter and added: “Do you want to get mated to Ralen Maltos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want?” she repeated, stressing the word like her sister had, savoring its unfamiliar, bittersweet taste. “I mean, of course I want to. I’ve been so terrified that no one would want to mate me at all that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but him, specifically, him. Do you want to get mated to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure that if there were anything objectionable about his person, our father would have . . .” she trailed off. “I’m not sure what point you are trying to make by asking these things, Tess. I truly don’t . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, her features fitting themselves to a familiar cast. The ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Valeriana, you are an idiot and I can’t comprehend why I even bother with you sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maltos hasn’t arrived yet. I instructed Ange and Bells to look out for him and entertain him for as long as they can. That should give you at least ten minutes. Go talk to that boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. Stop arguing. What am I always telling you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm. That I’m stupid and should do as you say?” Tessalia looked like a dog she’d believed friendly had decided to bite. Valeriana should apologize for her words, but . . . they weren’t inaccurate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood around for another second. Her sister failed to come up with a blistering counterattack, plastered one hand to her forehead and made shooing motions with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana fled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack waited at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets and looking the most put together she’d ever seen him. He’d gone with the dark blue suit. Without her around to prod him, odds were that the paisley one would remain buried in his closet forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His features were schooled into muted, polite pleasantness, and he sighed at the sight of her as she drew near, sounding exasperated but fond. The absence of hostility made the tightness inside her unwind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana greeted him with the quietest of hellos, risked a wobbly smile and looked him up and down, minding the distance between them, the tone her voice needed to take. Not too loud. Not too whisperingly. Frivolously cheerful, shallowly friendly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you! Your hair! I didn’t even think of advising that you cut it, I was certain that you’d never!” It might not have been such a bad thing that Jack abhorred social gatherings. Talking to him in this manner more than once in a blue moon would no doubt have felt strange and exhausting. “Even Tess said that you were presentable, and you know what she’s like. You must comb it, though, alright? Even if it’s short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you look beautiful, as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” She ran a hand through her hair. It hadn’t been so elaborately done that she couldn’t touch it. Jack had looked away while offering the compliment, more interested in scanning those around them, no doubt watching out for inconvenient relatives who might lurk in the vicinity. Valeriana still treasured it. “I was so, so sure that it would turn out a mess, or fit wrong, or tear at the last minute, which now that I think about it, it still might . . . oh, and this is for you, read it and put it away and please don’t lose it, I borrowed it from Angelica and if someone finds it lying around, she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the booklet from her extended hand as if expecting it to burst into flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The guest list. Annotated by all of us except Bells. This is an old copy. It changed a bit since yesterday, but it should help you know who to talk to and what about. I also circled every girl who—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You work too hard on these things, the four of you,” Jack muttered, shaking his head. His eyes dissected the names and the writing attached. “Why do the women have numbers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tess always rates their attractiveness.” Threat level, more like. Her eldest sister approached all formal socializing like one would a war campaign. From the face Jack made, Valeriana surmised that he thought along similar lines and felt as disturbed as she did. “I don’t know what her criteria are, but it goes from one to six, with anything above four being what even you would agree is comely. Now, as I was saying — I circled the ones who I know are nice and likely to have things in common with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you — never mind, forget I asked.” He folded the booklet in two and put it away. Valeriana struggled not to look crestfallen. She’d tried. It had always been a long shot. “Can we talk? Because we need to talk. Elsewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She noticed his hands balled into fists and the strain in his voice and the throbbing vein at his temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh. Alright. We should stay out in the open, though, otherwise people will assume . . .” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack returned a stiff nod, but his eyes had already gained a vacant, glassy quality that meant that her words were going in through one ear and exiting through the other without brushing the contents of his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana guided him to the nearest unoccupied chaise, where she sat him down. She herself remained standing, waiting for him to straighten out his speech. It took him a while, and she tried not to fret. About the time. About Tessalia’s deadline. About how no matter how she adjusted her body language, people might draw inconvenient conclusions about their interaction, even if those odds were balanced by Jack looking like he might sick himself all over the floor if prodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mated,” was all he said, after what felt like too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, well, yes.” Awkward silence descended, so she struggled to fill it. “Ralen. Ralen Maltos, that’s his name. He’s about three hundred, has two younger brothers, his family’s fortune comes from the Drakoe Spice trade, he has a home in South Soralia but came here for the seasonal festivities—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only meeting him tonight. I’m sure I will, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never met him?” He sounded steadier this time around. Steadier and as scathing as Angelica at her best. Valeriana could only sigh. She hadn’t expected Jack to be overjoyed, but she might have done with less derision. “If you’ve never even met him, how are you matched? Why did he pick you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She focused on her breathing and closed her eyes so they wouldn’t water, so that she could pretend that the question didn’t cut bone deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He saw me at the Century Turn luncheon, and I suppose he must have . . . liked me? Shockingly enough? He then went and spoke to my father, and they worked it all out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He went to your father without bothering to introduce himself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how these things sometimes work, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Jack spat. Valeriana’s chest ached at his tone. Even if she hadn’t counted on him being thrilled, she’d trusted that he’d understand why someone would want her. Instead, he looked like he had the day before, like the ground had vanished from under him, like he couldn’t conceive of anything that justified the current situation. His voice thrummed with the effort of making itself casual when he next spoke. “Was that why you said you didn’t know if you’d return to Lenosh? South Soralia is worlds away. I presume he’ll want you to move there with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . yes. I’m, I’m looking forward to that, actually, a little?” That gave Jack a start, although Valeriana wouldn’t be able to say why. He shifted his gaze to the domed ceiling and left it there while she rattled on, unsure if her words were steering the conversation for the better or the worse. “I’ve never been off world. It should be an interesting experience, you know I’ve always wanted to travel. I realize it’s far away—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s another world. You’ll drop off the map, what with time differentials and everything. I’d never get to see you again. Once every decade, with luck.” It was her turn to have a start, avert her eyes and chew on the inside of her cheek. The same thought had popped in her head so many times and yet, and yet, hearing it said aloud felt like a knife to the chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would . . . will . . . it will be hard for us to see one another regardless, after I’m mated.” She twined her hands, stifling the urge to reach out and clasp his, smothering her distress before it translated into tears. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. They had always been an anomaly, their friendship existing on borrowed time. These were the last few grains of sand tumbling down an hourglass that could not be turned back around. “We’ve known all along that this would happen someday, right? I mean, it’s just . . . it’s how things are. People grow up, they get mated, they . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t have to. You don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If his posture didn’t reflect her own upset, Valeriana would have felt something like frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s easy for you to say. You—” Oh, where to start, how to lay out the differences between them, so obvious to anyone not stone blind? “You’ve told me that your aunt prefers that you wait to get mated. Your father may ask about it whenever he remembers your existence, but you don’t care about his opinion and he won’t disown you for not hurrying. If I go up to my father and tell him I’d rather not mate Ralen Maltos, do you know what he’d do to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He just wants you gone.” Jack’s upper lip curled back in a sneer. “He doesn’t care who takes you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Valeriana hesitated, looking around to make sure that not much attention was being paid to them, before lowering her voice to a murmur. “There are minimum requirements, since he wants me away but would also like to profit from it. This was just the first and only suitable person who took an inter—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d said words. Only she wasn’t sure she’d understood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You . . . what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me. Available. If you have to get mated and the only stipulation is that one’s able to pay off your cunt of a father—” Valeriana only stared, too stunned to object to the coarseness. Jack had fixed his eyes on the carpet. “It’s as you said. My family doesn’t give a fig. We’ve known each other for years. You know I . . . care about you, and you wouldn’t be so invested in reforming me unless you returned the feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing for it. Valeriana went against propriety, discarding the thought that her sisters would skin her alive if they saw her like this. She sat down beside Jack, squeezing warmth into his stiff, shaking fingers. How he could feel cool to the touch in this environment was something best not wondered about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you care. I care for you too. But—” She felt the hand she held twist, wanting to make itself a claw, and held it tighter, squeezing, pleading for him to understand. “You can’t — do you realize what you’d be throwing away? And for what? Just to help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to become a stranger,” he whispered, speaking as though his throat were clogged. “This way, that wouldn’t have to happen. We could go to Soralia either way, or elsewhere, wherever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at Jack, handsome and dashing in his new clothes, golden hair gleaming in the lamplight, the only thing amiss his lack of a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was soft and sharp, the feeling drenching her. For a moment the thought crossed her mind, burning through like the incandescent ice of a meteor’s tail: for sure it would be nicer to get mated to someone she knew and liked, already loved and trusted, than a name with a short blurb fleshing out the person behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be easy, so easy, to say yes and bring on that future. It would also be selfish, and therefore she would not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your responsibility to step up. I’d never, ever ask you to.” He opened his mouth, a breathed syllable leaving his lips before she pressed a finger against them to trap whatever words would have followed. “In fact, I forbid you from doing so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s face fell. His hand slipped between her fingers, doubled back so that it was him holding her. The fevered, almost crazed look hadn’t left him. It had intensified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” he whispered, in an oddly fractured way, squeezing her hand to the point of pain. “At least entertain the idea, will you? You couldn’t possibly prefer to get mated to someone you never even met!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather you be happy, Jack! Gods!” She got up, made a quick gesture encompassing them, the ballroom, the tower, Alkarosh, the world, the worlds. She couldn’t see, but could picture, his nails digging in his palms until skin broke. “A mate bond is forever, and somewhere out there is a girl for you. How do you expect to build a life with her if you get stuck with me? You have the luxury of choice. Do you think I could live with myself, knowing that you gave that up for the sake of pity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about some hypothetical girl.” The very notion of this shadowy stranger appeared distasteful to him. “And I’m not offering to do this because I pity you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you are. It’s pity and not wanting anything to change, because you’ve never been good at thinking long term, so every small deviation from what you are used to seems like a catastrophe.” Valeriana rubbed her forehead, wishing that he would get it, praying that this harrowing conversation would end. “You’ll meet someone, even if you don’t care for the possibility right now. She’ll be beautiful and clever and whole, she won’t shrivel up in fear of your aunt, she’ll laugh at the jokes that I think are in poor taste. She’ll never find you mean or underdressed. You’ll never find her silly or boring. You’ll love each other beyond this life and into Darkness Everlasting, and I — I’ll be fine. We’ll be happy, both of us. Not together, which is sad to think about, but we will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not doing this out of pity, you . . . senseless . . .” His entire countenance looked bizarrely charged now, his eyes electric and verging on manic as he hissed: “I’m doing it because I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he did. Perhaps he even believed that it was a love that could sustain what he offered her. With unbearable gentleness, Valeriana pried his fingers away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love you too. So, so very much. Which is why it’s a no, and will remain a no. You’ll see that I’m right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see,” Jack echoed. He’d gone somewhere again, in his head. She hated it when he did that. It was a skill she also used, but she was never so ungracious as to do it while carrying on an important conversation. “What if something made this arrangement fall through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana froze. Squared her shoulders. Didn’t let her voice waver a fraction as she replied:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t ruin it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not suggesting that you would ruin it. Only that sometimes people get . . . unlucky.” He waved a hand in what she assumed to be a dismissal until it caught her chin. Too close. They were all sorts of too close, at any moment someone would notice, even if by some miracle the rest they’d been doing had gone unacknowledged. Valeriana still couldn’t bring herself to move away. Things, thoughts raced in the gaze he rested on her, so fast and fleeting she couldn’t fathom their shape. He leaned in as she convinced herself to draw back. “Whatever happens, it won’t be your fault, alright? Remember that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to hunt down my aunt and see if she agrees to a ceasefire. We’ll talk later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack got up and left, no goodbyes, swallowed by the crowd in the time it took to blink.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>♖</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t sit alone and aimless for long in the wake of Jack’s departure. Tessalia didn’t have the ability to pop up in places out of thin air, but she could have sworn otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unnerved, she wondered if the other had been listening in. Hardly out of character, but since she didn’t look as if she were about to launch into the lecture of a lifetime, probably not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Result?” Tessalia asked. No, demanded. Valeriana hugged her midsection, wanting to make the trembling in her arms subside, but only succeeded at making her entire upper body shake instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t . . . he didn’t take it well.” She admitted it before contemplating whether it was wise to share it with Tessalia. Maybe creating a rift between her and Jack had been her sister’s goal. In retrospect, it was the only plausible reason they would have been encouraged to talk to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t fault the logic behind it. A clean break might have been easier; painful and more of a shock, but the hurt wouldn’t stretch and languish over years or decades while they built lives apart and forgot why they were supposed to care about each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still. There’d been no fight, no ending. They’d argued, but that was nothing new. She couldn’t even say that Jack had left her on a sour note, since to be perfectly honest, Valeriana still wasn’t sure what note he’d left her on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought he might not, given the circumstances,” Tessalia was saying. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot when it became clear that she wouldn’t be offered more information without insisting. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He offered to speak to our father so that he could be my mate instead.” To Valeriana’s astonishment, her sister acted like she’d heard nothing that shocked her. Perhaps she was so apoplectic that she couldn’t even show it? “Don’t worry, I told him not to do it, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pleased to hear — wait. What?” Tessalia’s pleasant mask broke like someone had taken a hammer to it. Her eyebrows appeared to be trying to jump off her forehead. It was the most un-Tess-like expression Valeriana had ever seen her wear. “You told him no? Why in the world? You like him. Only the gods know what you find to like there, but you do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t say yes? It’s Jack.” Which to her conveyed a whole other meaning, but still. Tessalia was too mercenary about dealing with the opposite sex to wrap her head around the concept of caring if a man jeopardized his future for her. Valeriana suspected that Tessalia viewed men other than their father as wallets and titles attached to useless meaty appendages. “All those times I swore to you that you didn’t need to worry about us because he’s essentially a fourth sibling? I wasn’t lying. If someone needs to get stuck with me, I’d like it better if it’s a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia opened her mouth. Thought best of it, closed it. Opened it again after re-rethinking, the process repeating another two cycles before she settled on what to say. Valeriana didn’t know what took her so long, when it was obvious from the onset what she would say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impeccable, incurable idiot.” Tessalia ran a hand through her hair as Valeriana continued to nod in meek agreement, even if she privately did not understand what had caused the reaction. “Are you certain about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” A curl had shaken loose from the confection atop Tessalia’s head. Valeriana tracked it in a trance of sorts as it dangled back and forth. Normally her sister would have been beside herself trying to fix it, but she appeared entirely oblivious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank the gods you have a backup, if that’s how it is,” Tessalia said, at length. She still looked perturbed. Vexed and wronged, even, as though she’d laid out all her plans taking into account events that had done her the injury of not coming to pass. Had she predicted Jack’s reaction down to him proposing? Had that been the intended result of pushing her towards him? Her next words suggested so, and Valeriana . . . couldn’t even unravel that. “Aramis would have presented the better prospect. His father is past the halfway mark of life. He’ll have a title in a few thousand years. Maltos has money enough, but his roots are common as muck. If it weren’t for your . . . problem, he wouldn’t be considered an option for any of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia narrowed her eyes as she regarded her, as though Valeriana were something disgruntling and confusing. A pastry covered in chocolate and sugary glaze that she’d bitten into absentmindedly and discovered to be filled with spiced chicken. Not unpleasant, but not what she’d been counting on finding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then again . . .” She trailed off, appearing lost in thought. “Then again, the Maltos family isn’t as scandalous — no poisonings, infidelity or halfbreed children. Plus, I heard that Aramis’s aunt is wanted by the High Council for multiple accounts of murder—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh?” It was the first time Valeriana heard of it herself, and Tessalia’s sources tended towards reliable. It was also an opportunity to shift the subject away from whether she’d done the right thing, which her sister still appeared to be trying to work out, and she herself couldn’t afford to doubt. “Who did Lady Marabeth kill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite a few people, if I had to guess, but I meant the other one. The human lover.” Oh. She didn’t know much about that other aunt aside from her existing. Jack himself had never laid eyes on her as far as she was aware. She nodded while Tessalia marshaled a semblance of normalcy. “Although now that you’ve brought her up, yes, Lady Marabeth is also a questionable personage, since she trades in humans and there is talk of her training some of them herself. Which, as I hope I need not tell you, is wanton behavior and leaves her lacking both in class and propriety.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had no idea of what training human slaves entailed and why it qualified as wanton, but knew better than to ask. Lady Marabeth had always struck her, in their limited interactions, as terrifying, but proper to a fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In conclusion,” Tessalia said, giving Valeriana another look, an assessing one, as she adjusted her rogue hair. “You may, incredibly, have made a sensible choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That explained why she’d looked so shocked, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, now?” Valeriana risked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we go find Maltos, who already arrived and is off somewhere being treated to a dissertation on the properties of mistral ivy. I gave Bells leave to run her mouth, on the off chance that Aramis didn’t propose. After enduring her, you’ll seem enchanting by comparison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless I say something stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s alright. Men like it when women act a bit dim around them. Makes them feel good about themselves, the daft things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them a minute of wading through bodies across the room to make it to where the twins stood, chatting away in the company of their father and three unfamiliar men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was struck by the realization that she couldn’t tell which one was Ralen. The description she had to recognize him by was useless; they all had the same brown hair, short cropped, freshly shaved faces and similar builds and coloring. What if she ended up scrutinizing the wrong brother? Would that be construed as offensive?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia veered closer, meaning she’d done a shoddy job of not making her restlessness show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Middle one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana sighed with unmitigated gratitude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coaxing herself into breathing normally became a challenge when her father smiled at her. It was something he never did, and it showed. The warmth of that smile was the warmth of thrice reheated leftovers: spent, stale, unpalatable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were wondering where the two of you had disappeared to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one who didn’t know her father well would detect the distaste underlying his words. Valeriana’s mind went blank, trying to think of something to say that would be both plausible and uncontroversial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia was quicker, as per usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a wardrobe malfunction. Embarrassing, really, and I’ll be complaining to Modona about their disappointing work first thing tomorrow. Val was a darling and helped me fix it.” A winsome, dazzling smile flew to her sister’s lips as easily as the lie as she tossed her hair behind her shoulder, all grace. Three pairs of eyes followed her movements. It slightly irked Valeriana that Ralen looked as caught in Tessalia’s spell as his brothers, but she squashed the feeling. Men were like that about her sister. It was not worth being upset about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well. It’s not as though we got bored waiting for you. Why, Ansgar and I were just in the middle of a fascinating conversation about the cultivation of paxpernia bells,” Belladonna motioned at the brother on the left, who tore his gaze off Tessalia long enough to whip up a nod. “Which he is extremely knowledgeable about and always welcomes the opportunity to discuss with an interested party.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Valeriana found it difficult to work out the things her sisters left written between the lines. This time, Belladonna might as well be holding up a sign reading ‘so you can wrap that up and take it home and choke on it!’ and shoving it in Tessalia’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fascinating,” Tessalia intoned, sounding nothing less than genuine. “I’m sure it will pain these fine gentlemen that I’m about to deprive them of your company. Father, would you mind if I steal the twins? It’s too crowded here, and we have much that we need to discuss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A wardrobe malfunction?” Their father was stuck on that still, like it didn’t agree with his understanding of the world that his perfect daughter might fall victim to something so banal. At length, he recovered. “No, I don’t mind in the slightest. Go on and enjoy your evening, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belladonna’s eyes rolled so far back that it was a minor miracle that they didn’t drop to the bottom of her skull. Angelica, in contrast, appeared serious and solemn and tried to capture Tessalia’s gaze. Having managed it, she jerked her chin in Valeriana’s direction, parted lips bending to form a mute question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia shook her head, so subtly that the movement would only be apparent to someone expecting it. Angelica’s eyes widened. Her countenance became disgruntled. Valeriana decided that her worries were already plentiful without adding the strangeness of her sisters’ behavior and elected to ignore them altogether. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tessalia herded the twins away in a tight cluster, heads joined conspiratorially, leaving her alone to face three strangers whom she needed to impress, plus her father, who she knew she stood no chance of impressing. To say that she’d been in more comfortable situations would be a gross understatement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had yet to make a sound. Should she greet them? Introduce herself? Wouldn’t those things land peculiarly at this stage? Her father might have forbidden her from speaking unless requested, but it felt rude and awkward to just stand there staring at the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Valeriana. My youngest.” Her father gestured as if showing her off. As if she were worth showing off. He was convincing about it, too. She supposed that to divest himself of her, he’d be willing to try anything up to and including pretending he didn’t curse the sight of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen Maltos smiled politely. For the first time, she had his full attention. It took all that Valeriana had to bear his scrutiny placidly and smilingly. She studied him as he did her, though in a less presuming manner. It wasn’t as though her impression of her intended mattered, but she’d still like to form one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen’s face was plain but amiable. His clothes would be more suited for a temple service than a festive setting, gloomy and colorless as they were. Jack, Valeriana thought with a sudden pang, would have approved. His demeanor was businesslike if it was anything, but little else was to be expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was, at heart, a transaction. She needed someone to take her away. He needed someone to take places where a lowborn merchant wouldn’t be welcome on his own. Love and all else would come after the bonding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very pleased to meet you.” He took her hand. No trace of a Soralian accent, southern or otherwise, in his voice. Had she gotten that detail wrong? She couldn’t entertain the thought. Letting her face turn green was unlikely to make him think well of her. “You are even more beautiful up close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared her right in the eye while speaking. Valeriana recalled Jack’s mumbled compliment from earlier, delivered without looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the knot in her throat unwound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are too kind, sir.” She tried not to obsess about her tone, lest she be rendered incapable of speech. “I have also been looking forward to meeting you, ever so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ralen, please. No need for formality.” Valeriana nodded, keeping quiet for want of anything else to add. Her father looked as close as he ever did to approving. It could be assumed that her performance was adequate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve come to an agreement on the mate price. Ralen has, however, insisted on getting acquainted with you before we finalize the arrangement.” There was a confused resentment there, like it offended him that a man wanting to mate his daughter might wish to do something as asinine as having a few words with her before committing. More so, he glared at her as though he suspected her of having somehow engineered such a hindrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll go have a walk in the gardens,” Ralen said. “It’s impossible to breathe in here. Shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offered her an arm. Valeriana accepted it, feeling her father’s eyes like swords held to her neck. She could count her heartbeat in four places without expending effort, and it made her head swim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I — yes, of course, I’d love to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped that the confusion of bodies milling about — the Glass Tower was many things, but spacious wasn’t one of them — would make it less noticeable that she was still looking Ralen over with no small amount of apprehension, trying to divine as much about him as she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again . . . would it be bad if he caught her staring? It should be alright, shouldn’t it, if he was to be her mate? It might be less appropriate to take her eyes off of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the moment Valeriana came to that conclusion was the same moment her gaze strayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she breathed. Then floundered when Ralen looked over, expecting her to clarify what had prompted the exclamation. Valeriana’s thoughts raced to come up with anything other than ‘my best friend is over there doing his level best to earn a permanent eviction’. “Uh, Ange. My sister. I don’t know the man she’s dancing with. I’m worried she might get in trouble if he’s someone Tess — my other sister, the blonde one — would object to her being seen with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You women worry so much about these things.” Ralen glanced around. Since Valeriana had indeed spotted Angelica moments ago, twirling around the floor with an unknown, he had an easy time locating her. “That’s one of the chairmen who came with the Eastern assembly. His name escapes me, but they’re here to discuss the extension of the railroad cross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Angelica’s choice of dancing partner had been a cover, Valeriana couldn’t help but chew her lip thoughtfully: a politician. Well, Tessalia wouldn’t have Ange’s head for that, even if she weren’t busy holding court with her usual gaggle of besotted suitors. Belladonna was nowhere to be seen. Valeriana didn’t want to search too hard, fearing that eyes would wander in the direction she tried to avoid if given a hair of leeway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The . . . extension?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re planning to open an outpost in Fletembre sometime this century. Once all that business with Cynihe gets sorted and resources are freed up. But, I wouldn’t like to burden you with these matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No, it wouldn’t do to have him thinking she found him tedious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s — I’m not bored. I just know very little about those places, or railroads, therefore . . . “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Ralen seemed to find her nervousness endearing, or at least not grating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite alright. I wouldn’t expect you to. Same as if you told me about darning napkins or . . . what are they called, those long things with valves that every lady here seems to know how to play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I think you mean a fingole?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the one. Do you play it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” She froze, feeling as if someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs, leaving them flopping at the bottom of her chest. Should she lie? But if he asked for a demonstration of her nonexistent talent, wouldn’t that make it worse? No. Honesty was better. Then damage control, if need be. “I do. Just, not, uhm. Not very well, I’m afraid. Is that, I mean, I can practice more if it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cut her off, laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can ease up. I’m not interested in what instruments you play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said, aware that she wasn’t being a stellar conversationalist and dreading the moment when they stepped outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the background resonance of a hundred blood songs, plus actual music played at a high enough volume to dull them, plus the medley of voices trying to make themselves heard above all of that, Ralen wouldn’t have made much of the fact that she’d only spoken to him when prompted. Once they were alone, however, she’d need to converse about something other than banalities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had prepared herself for this. It might not make a lick of difference. The ice breakers on the tip of her tongue suddenly seemed cringeworthy. Her knowledge about the topics of interest she’d studied looked to have drained while she wasn’t looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sisters didn’t face these hindrances, she was certain. Tessalia didn’t even have to speak to get men interested. Angelica made others get so carried away talking about themselves that they failed to notice that she scarcely bothered to get a word in. Belladonna was a bottomless reservoir of gossip and had gardening to default to for audiences who weren’t interested in knowing who was doing which preposterous thing with whomst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was by far the most incompetent of the lot, despite being the one who tried the hardest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t feel fair, but so it was with many things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana made herself stop from turning as they passed the entrance arch, but still caught a glimpse, faraway and fleeting, of Jack throwing up his hands at a tall figure in a black dress. All she could do was shake her head to herself. If this was how he went about conducting a ceasefire, she dreaded to think how belligerent he’d be in actual battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was cooler outside than it had been at the start of the evening. That, or the ballroom had been sweltering enough to make it seem better by comparison, which wouldn’t surprise her. The absence of noise and congealed scents of expensive perfume was also a marked improvement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gardens, labyrinthine hedges and scattered palm trees, were not empty, as other groups and pairs had elected to retreat from the overstuffed ballroom. Valeriana didn’t mind, but she got the sense that her companion was less than pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re quiet,” Ralen observed, after they’d walked in silence for a minute. “Your song. Even here I can barely hear it unless I stand next to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . yes.” She had hoped that it would take him a while to point it out, but resigned herself to the inevitable questions. She was not the only person with a song that verged on quiet. There were surveys taken among Tsikalayans on the Bound Worlds and in Barashi itself that confirmed that she was not an anomaly but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>one-in-every-thirty-cases-or-so</span>
  </em>
  <span>. However, it prompted embarrassing questions from those aware of her physical defect, which Ralen surely was. “It’s always been that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you certain that you are full Tsikalayan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” She felt hurt, a little, but hoped it didn’t show. This was a man who proposed to mate her. It was a valid concern, ensuring whether her heritage was beyond reproach. The children they might have would suffer if something turned up muddy on that front. “I am. You can confirm with my father, though I’m sure you’ll have discussed it already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve broached the subject.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana nodded, more stiffly than her father would have liked, and tried to distract herself by listening to Ralen’s song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She only picked up nebulous recognition, the sense of</span>
  <em>
    <span> we-are-of-one-kind</span>
  </em>
  <span> that echoed from any Tsikalayan with whom she wasn’t well acquainted. That, too, was expected. One true mates, halves of a predestined whole, meeting because the other’s song called to them louder than any they’d heard before, existed only as a plot device for plays and stories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way,” Ralen said. The Glass Tower had been built atop a cliff. Not an exceedingly tall cliff, but the sharpness of the drop made up for the unimpressive height. The gardens ended at a low wall, permeated with gaps that allowed access to stone steps. Those ran along the rock face all the way to a leisure port and the beach that neighbored it. “Down there should be private enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You . . . want to go to the beach?” Valeriana wished her voice hadn’t wavered. The railings were firm, the steps lit by bulbs of orange crystal, but there were no vessels moored and the port was clean of life. If they went down they’d be truly alone, a long way away from the ball and everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Ralen had said he wanted privacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he guided her down, Valeriana thought of love. It was, for the most part, not a factor she’d found worth taking into account, as the mating bond would sort it out. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. If she’d had the chance, the time, if it had mattered, would she have fallen for Ralen Maltos? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like it would make everything easier if she could say that the answer was yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped onto porous, salt stained concrete and let her skirts drop. With the waves lapping at the sand and the crystals casting their shimmer over the oil slick sea, the setting would as easily qualify as romantic as it could strike one as sinister. Valeriana had yet to decide in which camp she fell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice, huh?” Ralen remarked, pointing at the wooden bridge connecting the beach to the port. Bigger crystal bulbs flanked it. He eyed them with an intent that Valeriana couldn’t make out. “‘ts a shame that there’s all this brightness, but I suppose at this distance . . . well, come over, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand went to the small of her back and shoved. Valeriana stumbled with a surprised noise, not having expected to find herself off balance, tried to right herself, failed, tumbled forward. She’d made it some distance across the bridge and fell far and wide; her knees hit the planks, but her hands landed on the comparatively soft anthracite sand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof.” Valeriana’s most immediate concern was her dress. She shook off the skirts as she drew herself back up, running fingers down the seams and sighing with relief upon realizing that there’d been no tearing. Only after did she acknowledge the pinpricks of foreboding fired off at the base of her skull. Had that — he hadn’t meant to throw her, surely? Yet the push had felt too purposeful to be accidental. Unnerved, she tried to disguise her misgivings with an attempt at a laugh. “I’m sorry. I can be so clumsy sometim—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words died on her lips, felled by a large hand. Ralen had moved to stand in front of her so, so quickly. His eyes were unreadable. The only hint of anything that Valeriana found in them turned out to be flashes of light reverberating from the lamps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, V — can I call you V? Since we’re about to be that close?” Whatever that meant. Valeriana felt incongruously cold. She nodded behind his hand, which he dropped, mouth shaping into a smile. “Splendid. Now, I don’t recall telling you to get back on your feet, did I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No? But I don’t understand, I—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can’t be as stupid as you sound, but just so that there’s no room for ambiguity . . .” He paused, eyeing her up and down as she stood transfixed. “Get down on your knees.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t—” Valeriana caught her eyes striving upwards, to the tower, before they snapped back to Ralen’s face. She shouldn’t be afraid. She shouldn’t feel panic nipping at the edges of her mind until they frayed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely whatever was happening here must be normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get down. Now.” His voice admitted no refusal. Valeriana scrambled to obey, thinking — thinking that she was becoming perplexed by his behavior, that at least the sand was soft, that everything would be fine, that he stood blocking the bridge and that she couldn’t very well turn back and run for the treeline, because she didn’t know the area and would get lost in the dark, that there was bound to be an explanation for why he was . . . “That’s better. You’re obedient, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana gave no response and wasn’t sure whether she ought to feel blessed by Ralen not seeming to care. He circled her, his appraisal not just cursory this time, no longer bearing the faintest hint of decorum as his eyes dwelled on the shape of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the pulse beating strong on the side of her neck, the redness of her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He undid the cords holding his pants up. Valeriana stopped feeling confused. She felt ill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stole a glance at the thicket of mangroves behind her. More concerning than getting herself lost, this part of Alkarosh was a delta region, likely riddled with tidal marshes and bogs; deep pits that would appear invisible until she dropped down one of them and vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana remembered being five and kicking out in terror as muddy waters swallowed her and she swallowed them in turn. Fleeing blind was out of the question. She couldn’t very well swim away. Either she made it past Ralen, or . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything snapped into sudden and startling focus. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was plotting an escape. Why was she plotting an escape? Her father would kill her. Maybe this was just how it went. Perhaps there was an equivalent to kneeling on a black sand beach under the cover of night for every girl, only you weren’t told in advance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed — it seemed so counterproductive to keep it a secret. Had she known, had she been able to come to terms with it beforehand and prepare, she wouldn’t have had to subdue the reflexive urge to scream for help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . don’t. You’re not supposed to. We—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? Did you buy that dress without trying it on first?” Ralen was looking at her as though she were a fool and a disappointment. Valeriana was intimately familiar with both expressions. “I’m just looking to see how well you fit. If you’re concerned about your father, don’t fret. He gave me leave to do as I liked with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana stared up, feeling cold and queasy and like so very many things were just plain wrong. She didn’t speak. Her tongue was tied, her throat tight. She didn’t mouth ‘he wouldn’t, he couldn’t allow it’, because after everything was said and done, she knew what sort of father she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen’s fingers dug in her hair. She held herself motionless despite the nails scratching her, because parental approval was her cue to be quiet and concede. To do otherwise would land her in a worse position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her blurry vision and the warm tracks on her cheeks hinted that she’d started crying, but that was just because he was hurting her with the pulling, so everything should be alright once he stopped doing that. She tried craning her neck, twisting the angle at which he held her to ease the tension, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slap rang loud, felt like a burn. Her sight threw up stuttering, throbbing bursts of light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop fucking wiggling and open your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was it for pretending that all would be well were it not for the pain, because Valeriana found herself shaking her head without caring if her hair snagged on his fingers and ripped from her scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen dropped his pants, and his manhood hung between his legs like a fat, strained sausage. His free hand wrapped around the base and pumped a few times; she watched it rise with dumb, numb shock. If she opened her mouth he’d shove it in. She didn’t want to look at it, tried not to, but he was all but waving it in her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did part her lips, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HEL—” Blackness. Blackness and stars exploding. A trickle of wetness down her lip, chin, the knowledge that her cheek would be on fire once her nerve endings caught up with reality. A few of her teeth wobbled against her tongue. Her spit tasted like blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try that again, see where it gets you!” he growled, shaking her, turning the world to a jittery mess of orange light mingling with skeins of darkness. Valeriana wanted to vomit, not even because he’d made her dizzy, but because it was all going so wrong and she couldn’t figure out how or why it had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, she told herself, was where she was meant to apologize and attempt to placate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she screamed again, louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen kicked her. She flew back a handful of paces, the sand not doing much to abate the violence of her landing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it was too much to ask that you have a working brain. Although, considering every other way you are stunted, maybe it’s on me for not seeing this coming.” He paced around her, sneering. His pants were gone, his shirt unbuttoned — when had that happened? — the skin of his chest rippled. “You know what you’ll get if you keep yelling? Someone will show up. They’ll see what’s happening. I might even tell them the rest of what I’ll be doing to you. Once they realize that no one is getting killed down here and it’s just some witless girl throwing a fit, they’ll either shake their heads and fuck off, or ask to join in. Either way, they will tell everyone about it, and that won’t be too good for your reputation, now will it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to believe him a liar. Her sisters would be incensed about how inappropriate the whole thing was, even if they wound up backing off once they knew that their father had consented to it in her stead. Jack had been angry about just the concept of Ralen, and he’d never taken well to people harming her, but she couldn’t see him taking a break from his own problems to promenade down the garden path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still wanted to believe him a liar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop crying, unless you want me to give you a reason to bawl your eyes out.” Once again Ralen’s fist was raised, leaving scant doubt that he’d make good on the threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana cringed away. She could do that. He wasn’t holding her anymore. She could get up and run, and the odds might be against her and her chances of making it slim, but she found she didn’t care. She shot to her feet, swaying. Tripped, when a tentacle shot out like a whip and slammed into her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No, stop, stop, please!” Yet she felt sure, as the blows rained, that begging was useless. Bringing her hands up to cover her face dulled the sting of his fists, but angered him more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay still, you little — bitch.” There was further coarseness after that, but Valeriana heard it like a distant, unpleasant echo. Her hands fell aside, arms limp as the will to fight hit a wall and deserted her. “See, if I’d had any intention of mating you in the first place, this behavior? Would be a deal-breaker.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t make out much else of what he shouted, but those words drifted back to her in a somewhat comprehensible form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh—” She was cut off by an awful tearing; Ralen hadn’t had the patience to bunch up her skirts and just ripped the seams up to her waist. She could barely see for how much she was crying. “If you had—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped messing around with her clothing, stared at her and barked a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eventually I’d have let your father know that I’d changed my mind. Can’t risk infecting my offspring with whatever’s wrong with you, can I? However, seeing as you’re making this so damn difficult, maybe I’ll tell him, after we’re done, that I won’t go through with it because you were too intractable to make the whole business worth my while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her blood turned to ice at his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father would . . . believe it, were Ralen to tell him she’d misbehaved. Wouldn’t even feel surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would be ruined in every way that mattered, with no recourse or right to appeal, and then — she couldn’t contemplate what would come after. Hadn’t allowed her thoughts to carry her that far, always shielding herself behind the conviction that she’d make herself do well, that she’d perform to the best of her ability and it would have to be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d studied so much, tried so, so hard. All for nothing. She’d never stood a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could beg Ralen to at least — at least not tell anyone, afterwards. Bargain, promise that she wouldn’t complain, but then again it didn’t seem to matter whether she did. He might have gotten a good enough overview of her family dynamics to reason that no one would care that he’d forced her beyond how much it dropped her market value. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on top of her, naked from the waist down, his erection rubbing against her leg, hands digging in her thighs as she tried to roll the torn fabric around her so that there’d be something, some barrier to buy her time. She kicked and screamed and doubled down on the screaming and clawed and pushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The latter made him falter, likely only because she’d caught him by surprise, and one had to wonder whether the consequences were worth it. Valeriana had expected him to reply with a shower of punches. Although those did come, she had not expected the stab of teeth sinking into her throat just above her collarbones, closing around a mouthful of flesh with a snap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurred to her that if he made enough of a mess, if she returned to the ballroom wounded and blood soaked, if it were obvious that she’d gone above and beyond to make things difficult, if it were clear to everyone that none of it had been her fault, that she hadn’t wanted . . . it might help. She’d be seen as a sad, pitiful thing, but wasn’t that already the story of her life? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana choked back a sob. Ralen had stopped biting, since she didn’t insist on fighting. He looked irritated, but she hadn’t goaded him enough to be so angry that he’d go beyond subduing her. He might even have expected resistance, since his voice was thick with relish as he leaned in and seized her hands together to stop them from hindering his roaming about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, since you objected to my cock in your mouth, maybe I’ll go the long way around and shove some meat up your throat instead of down. What do you think?” He was in a good mood. Smiling, as blood dripped from his lips and teeth, his mouth already shrinking back to normal width, looking smug as anything as he waited for her terror, waited for her to swear to behave, to do anything, anything at all if he spared her that fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana shuddered and spat the blood pooling in her mouth over her chin and neck and bodice, thinking that if this weren’t enough to make people see that he had forced her, she was beyond hope. Then she screamed again. Screamed until her throat felt more raw from the sounds she made than the wound. Felt no surprise when his teeth were there again, making so much blood bubble out that the possibility that she’d die suddenly didn’t seem so farfetched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was fine. If she died, at least they’d know. If he killed her before he had his way with her, she’d be spared the shame altogether. Her father would have to concede that it hadn’t been her fault. Ralen would be arrested. It was dirt easy to get away with violation, if one believed the horror stories her sisters told her, but murder was a different matter. He’d go to prison for hundreds of years, then spend another century doing civic labor. He’d pay, but wasn’t . . . wasn’t it twisted, that death was the only way she had to see herself vindicated?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her neck hurt. She didn’t want to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen might not consider it a reason to stop if she were to cease breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked, what do you think?” There he went, shaking her again. Must have mistaken her for a beanbag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana thought that she wanted him to die, miserably and in many pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, she would tell herself that she hadn’t been able to think further than that. That none of what followed had been her doing, that something had come over her as the realization struck, possessing her limbs and depriving her of sense. That she’d been dragged through the motions like a marionette, only to later come to her senses feeling like she’d gone to sleep and dreamed in red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her teeth ceased to be loose things swimming around her mouth unmoored. They were razor sharp, and they were legion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Ralen could seek to make her bleed so that she’d give in to his wants, then why—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, many decades down the lane, Valeriana would review the events with a less self-deluding mindset and acknowledge that there’d been no mysterious force driving her. That she hadn’t gone to sleep so much as woken up to find the furniture of her mind rearranged, and the solutions she sought lying in plain view as if they’d just been waiting for her to acknowledge them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralen had teeth, but so did she. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world stopped spinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana noted, with frightening detachment, that while her jaw lowered and her grin stretched her lips to her ears and split her face in two halves, her heart rate barely picked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was screaming, hoarse and incredulous, as her mouth latched not onto the side of Ralen’s neck but the front. She didn’t leave her teeth sitting where they pierced like makeshift plugs; she pulled her head back, tearing, pausing to spit out flesh, thinking that at least he’d beaten her hard enough that she’d gotten used enough to the flavor of blood that she didn’t gag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His screaming didn’t last. Valeriana only had to tear through so many layers before reaching and excising some part in the absence of which he was reduced to garbled gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no one moment in which she knew that she would not let up until he was dead. It was an awareness that came to her in bits and pieces, first when Ralen’s half erect member slapped against her side as he tried to pry himself off, then when his bones yielded with a crunch, then when there turned out to be more of his throat scattered around them than left in place. After all that, she thought she might still stop, but knew—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t, because she didn’t want to. Death was a solution, one satisfying enough provided that it didn’t happen to her. Not the only one, but at the moment Valeriana could entertain no other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of her reproached her; it was her rational half, the one that had led her to kneel with little protest, to plead and cry when matters turned sour. The one that had allowed her to dream of flight but eschewed all reminders that fight was an option. Valeriana couldn’t fathom why she’d ever heeded it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was blood on her lips and on her arms as Ralen clawed at her. He might be stronger, but believing her so much weaker had impaired his initial reaction, and she’d torn plenty of pieces off before he could reform his opinion. Tentacles twitched in a last-ditch attempt to throw her off, and then just twitched aimlessly, because there went his spinal cord and with it what little motor control he’d kept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, with limited aplomb, he lay in two pieces, body sprawled on top of her, head rolling off to the side. Valeriana remained on her back for a long moment. Ralen’s body sputtered rivulets of blood down her shoulder and onto the sand. She could taste him on her tongue and feel pieces of him sticking between her teeth. She was filthy with his gore, a mess, unsightly. By all rights, she should be losing her gods given mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet the inside of her head had never felt so still, so calm. It was almost surreal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana finally stood up, shaking off the dead weight, looking into Ralen’s glassy, empty eyes and facing her reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was herself in a dress reddened from the blood that drenched it, hair wild and eyes burning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kicked the head towards the water’s edge and watched the sea sweep it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her current state of hallowed serenity would only last as long as it took for the consequences of her actions to sink in. Valeriana made use of it while she still could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She skipped to where the waves licked the sand and waded into the water until it reached her waist. It was lukewarm and still, protected from the stronger currents by a rocky outcrop along the edge of the bay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cupped water in her hands and splashed it first over her face, then her chest and arms, and repeated until it stopped running over her palms in shimmering shades of red. She unfastened her hair and rinsed it, knowing that getting it to resemble what it had been was a lost cause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered, as she stepped back onto dry land, when she was due to start regretting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night was a warm blanket wrapped around her, the orange light of the crystals comforting and soft. The railing of the bridge looked as good a place to sit down as anything, so she did. She lost track of how long she sat there, just her and the sound of her breathing and the sea lizards dozing on a sandbank further ahead. She’d missed them the first time around; the commotion didn’t seem to have disturbed them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She combed through her hair with her fingers and stared at the body, expecting to finally be bowled over by the awareness of every which way in which she’d ruined everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she could think was that Ralen made for better company as a corpse than he had alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t stay sitting there forever. The dress was torn evenly enough that if she allowed it to dry, walked with care and kept the fabric pinched at knee level, the slit might be mistaken for a feature. If she stuck to the darker paths of the gardens and avoided acquaintances likely to stop her for a chat, she stood a chance of getting away from the Glass Tower and . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nowhere she could run to, not from this. Once Ralen didn’t turn up, people would go looking and they would uncover her crime. She could, Valeriana supposed, wondering when and how her mind had become this ice palace in which she stood capable of contemplating such notions, dump the rest of the body in the sea. It would wash up somewhere, but she’d buy herself time, for all that she did not know what she’d use it for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been seen leaving with him, so they’d realize her guilt, eventually. She’d be arrested and face the judgment of the High Council. Plead her case, feign remorse with a straight face, because although she could now feel herself edging closer and closer to a meltdown, she still couldn’t make herself regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val! Thank the gods!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had been focusing so intensely on dreading the future that she’d missed not just the familiar song drifting her way but also the steps barreling up the bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed twice before she dared to turn her head, now well and truly panicking. It was panic of an unknown sort. It didn’t strangle her and render her paralyzed. It flared danger danger danger and urged her to run, scream, break something, break someone, act. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack slowed down as he neared her, switching to a sedate, careful gait, as if he believed she might spook and bolt if he were to approach too fast. Valeriana laughed before she could help it, acknowledged that she didn’t know why she’d done it when the situation was in no way amusing, laughed again. Was this what despairing was like, on the other side of the myriad of lines she’d crossed? Things just bubbling out of her for no reason, uninhibited? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d never seen Jack’s face look so ashen, but then again, he’d never caught her in the company of a man she’d murdered. Laughter kept erupting from her until the sound was rendered unsettling and hysterical even to her own ears. Even then she found it hard to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she said. Her hands shook. The contents of her head were such a maladjusted mess that she couldn’t pinpoint what about Jack’s arrival had tipped her over the edge, if it had been him to set her off. If all of it hadn’t just been overdue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” What happened should be obvious. She gestured at the body, in case he’d overlooked it, then at her mouth, hoping to be understood without having to explain aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I . . .” No, she truly couldn’t say it. Not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack sank down and put an arm around her, tracing her face and shoulders as if making sure that all parts were present and accounted for. She endured it for a moment before it became too much. It felt wrong to be touched. Like her skin was tainted, covered in poisonous tar, and she’d make it stick to him by allowing contact. She slunk back, shaking his arm. Jack let it drop in surprise and confused hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he do?” His tone was low, dangerous. Valeriana couldn’t recall any other time he’d sounded like that. He made no other overtures to touch her, but moved with her as she turned her head, so that she couldn’t escape facing him. “Val, look at me. What did he—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” The words came out wet and weak. She was crying; she hadn’t noticed until just then. Her mouth felt like an alien entity stuck to her face as she struggled to form a coherent account and, predictably, failed. “I’d have been, I— he was always planning to back out of the match, he never meant to — even if I had let him, he’d still . . . and everyone would know what I’d let him do and no one else would ever . . . ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack swore aloud and stood up abruptly. She didn’t register his intent before he stopped by Ralen’s body, scowled at it, and landed a kick right between the legs. Then he did it again, the sound strangely squelchy on reprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s dead already,” she told him, at first feeling silly for saying it, what with the absence of the head making it self-evident, only to shudder as she assimilated that she’d gone and said it. “He’s dead. I killed him. I bit his head off and he’s dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jack kicked a few more times too many and surveyed his handwork — or, rather, footwork — with a dark satisfaction. Valeriana went against her judgment, looked, dropped her head in her hands and covered her eyes. Ralen’s groin had come to resemble a sloppy helping of beef mince. The sight, combined with the memory of his blood, his flesh clogging her mouth, made her dry heave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack reacted to her sound of distress at once, swooping to her side. He had blood on his boots. They were the soft, pale sort of leather that would be forever stained with rusty marks if he didn’t wash it off before it dried. Why was she concerning herself with that, of all things? Valeriana wanted to laugh again, and once again she didn’t know why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize that you had left. When I went looking for you, you were nowhere to be found, so I knew right then that something was wrong, but . . . ” Jack sucked in a breath, looking — guilty, why? Then she remembered how personally he’d taken everything involving her upcoming mating. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time. I’d already combed through the tower and the gardens. This was the last place I thought to check . . . “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. It wasn’t your responsibility to look out for me.” Valeriana discovered she’d lost the ability to cry quietly, her sobs becoming so violent they turned into coughs. “I’m . . . I think . . . I don’t know what to do, now. I don’t know how I’ll make myself return there and tell everyone—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t hide it, they’ll find out, and then it’ll look even worse because I tried to cover it up!” She bit her lip, feeling nauseous in a way she hadn’t even while eating through flesh. “I’m not sure how they’ll — they won’t execute me for this, I think, but they’ll send me to prison and my family will never want to speak to me again. And what can I hope to do with myself once I’m out?” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, but even that was too much, made her feel awfully trapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to prison.” When he said it like that, Valeriana almost believed him, though her optimism was tempered by the knowledge that when Jack looked so certain about something, it meant that he was about to propose something liable to make her tear her hair out. “We’ll say it was me. That he tried — what he tried, and that I stopped him. Everyone will believe that easily enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his nearly as mad proposal from earlier that evening, Valeriana had been preparing for something of the sort, so it didn’t come off as so much of a shock as it would otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t.” Why, why couldn’t he stop to think at a time like this, when she couldn’t do it for him because the inside of her head had become an unending fracas. “You can’t. You were on trial not one month ago and everyone knows you only got acquitted because of your father. If they take you in on a murder charge, they won’t let you off the hook this time as a matter of principle! They’ll assume that you’re a menace to society!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack said nothing, which was on its own an acknowledgement of her rightness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll turn myself in,” she concluded. “It’s the only thing I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t.” He didn’t let her stand, clamping a hand on her shoulder and turning her towards him. Going against every misgiving wriggling inside her chest and every voice that screamed no, wrong, leave, Valeriana leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t let you take the blame. I won’t.” Which made this a goodbye of sorts, meaning that when Jack reached out to stroke her hair, it wrenched her heart more than it made her skin and flesh want to slide off her bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I won’t let you be put away to have only darkness knows what done to you,” he retorted, holding her tighter while she kept shaking her head. He must have tried to sound very grave, to still manage it with his mouth buried in her hair. “I’m getting you out of here. I’ll talk to my aunt again, she’ll—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—no. You can’t shelter me at her house, if they ask my family where I might be that’s the first place they’ll think of, and I don’t want to impose on Lady Marabeth, or make more trouble for you . . . Jack, I don’t—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth, then,” Jack cut her off, before she could launch into a lengthy breakdown of why it was all so unfeasible. “Aunt Marabeth was going to leave for the facility she has there one of these days. She can take you with her; it’s an unconquered world, so it has next to no Council oversight. Her younger sister has been hiding there, having a grand old time, for two thousand years, and that one pulled crap that powerful people have an actual investment in getting her to answer for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d never be allowed back if I ran.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did mention that you’d always wanted to travel off-world. Would you really mind having to do it forever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My family—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already hates you anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s . . . not fair to Tess and the twins, they’re hard on me but they don’t . . .” They hadn’t before, but there was no way that they wouldn’t despise her after what she’d done. Valeriana could see Jack’s expression turn triumphant as she worked out that when you boiled the situation down to its marrow, running wouldn’t lose her anything that she wouldn’t be stripped of either way. “Will you — will you come too, or is that . . ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tipped her chin up and kissed her forehead, leaving her so startled that the urge to tell him off forgot to manifest and all she could do was look up in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw herself reflected there, hopeful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait for me by the garden wall. I’m going to drag my aunt out and we’ll meet you there. See if you can . . .” He grimaced at the body, but bit back his distaste as he released her with one lasting, reassuring squeeze. “. . . dump that filth somewhere where it’ll take a while to get found. I’ll be back before you know it, and you? You’ll be just fine. Trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t do anything but nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might be the first time she believed those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Catch and Conquer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“No,” Nick said, flatly. “No. Fuck off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had naively presumed that revving back and rolling down the window to show off the unconscious heap draped over the adjoining seat would enlighten the henchman cohort on how matters stood. However, she had failed to account for the fact that in Jack’s absence, the person to whom command defaulted was, for some reason that frankly boggled the mind, Nick. Nick, who lay flat on his back with a hand over his eyes in the manner of romance heroines having the vapors. The others would not disperse without his avail, even if it would be far more sensible. Wonderful. It was like someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make everything as difficult as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stopped the jeep, keeping the engine fired up, and threw the door open on her side of the vehicle. One of her hands was on the wheel, the other on the pommel of the askara sword, the blade of the same against Jack’s neck – a split second development brought on by him getting shaken out of the seat by her abrupt braking and landing like a dead weight over her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, this is how it’ll go,” she said, pointing at herself, the road, Jack, the sword and enunciating, with mordant slowness: “I’m leaving. I’m taking him. Don’t follow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, everyone except Axis, who looked like he wanted to wring her head off her neck and drink from it as from a wine bottle, appeared ready to let her do just that and call it a day. Still, it all hinged on Nick, who’d finally moved, turning on his side in the dust to look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved his hand to his hair, gripping his scalp in a familiar nervous tic, swore, as per his habit, and invoked Astara’s name in vain twice. Then, making sure no parts of him moved that didn’t need to, he lifted his torso until he lounged semi seated, one hand propping himself up and the other still picking at the frayed, crispy edges of his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Notice you’re fucking outnumbered?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Nick barked. He wore a muted, less expressive variant of his customary rancorous grimace, as though being purposefully conservative in moving his face. Valerie recalled that when dunking him in gasoline, she’d emptied the container over his head before anything else, making it likely that the fire had taken to it with ease. Now that she noticed it, there was an unusual redness to his face. One too deep and raw looking to be explained away by him being congested with ire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Notice the hostage?” She wriggled her foot against the pedals, lamenting the time she didn’t have to waste holding a standoff that, unless she’d read the room backwards, wasn’t desired by either party. “I wasn’t planning on spelling it out because I’d think it goes without saying, but I’m not asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>your excellency</span>
  </em>
  <span> for permission. You’re going to stand down, and you won’t follow me, or . . . well. You of all people should know how the rest of this sentence goes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You rabid fucking bitch!” Nick had better reflexes than one might think, given his performance during fights. Tragically, or perhaps fortunately, the ability was restricted to whipping out crass gestures. His right hand mimicked a K’peri death curse at her. The left one flipped her off in a more down to Earth fashion. Neither impressed nor amused, Valerie reached for the blaster stuck in the cup holder. She deliberately didn’t hit the moron, but he definitely hurt himself twisting out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK YOU!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kindly stop wishing the hand of rot on all my offspring, or whatever it is you are doing. I’d like to know whether you’re letting up, or if we have an issue that</span>
  <em>
    <span> your</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend here will pay for in blood.” Valerie moved the tip of the sword away from Jack’s neck and to his nose. One slice. Just a little pressure. More slices, enough slices, and she’d be forever free from the ache the sight of his face induced. A cut along his throat — she needn’t even cut widely or deeply, only strike true — and his voice wouldn’t haunt her anymore either, gone or mangled beyond healing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could make him a silent stranger, someone she didn’t have the false feeling of knowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet even if she did that, his song would remain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you would. I mean, who the fuck do you think you’re kidding here, you’re both loony bin escapees who can’t get your shit together on your lonesome, let alone around each other. You think I haven’t watched you do the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oooh, this is a battle only one of us will survive!</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ song and dance before? Only for something contrived to come up, every single time, at the last minute, so you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spare him? Come the fuck on with that bullshit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cicerny, did you see the psycho face she was pulling just now? She may be for real this time.” Axis’s support earned him a smile from Valerie herself, although he failed to appreciate it and drew back as though she’d bared her teeth. “Seriously, she was looking at him like she’d eat him alive, I wouldn’t put it past—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be a lot more worried if I didn’t suspect he’d be into it, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Byron stepped in, sighing heavily as he knocked Axis, who’d been about to make another snarling remark, out of the way. He gave the askara sword a look more cursory than concerned before facing her. Valerie pegged him as a member of team ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>She Wouldn’t, Not Really’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Funny how they were all making calls when she herself remained both unaffiliated and undecided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Redmont, Cicerny is technically in charge if you follow the chain of command, but since Lady Maz didn’t plan on ever dying, the chain of command is based on favoritism rather than knowing one’s head from one’s ass. We can’t have that right now, so I’m taking over from him. Problem, man?” Nick shook his head quickly and with all too transparent relief. Looking like he hadn’t expected anything different, Byron returned his attention to her. “What are your terms?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you are more competent than he is, if you failed to notice that I’ve already named them?” Valerie affected a sigh and moved the sword back to Jack’s neck so as to tempt herself less. “Fuck off and don’t follow. That’ll be all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On one condition.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is not a negotiation</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she wanted to snap back, but nevertheless jutted out her chin to signal her willingness to at least listen. The less time she wasted arguing the better, and the condition might be something that wouldn’t encumber her much. She’d rather set a bad precedent than make more work for herself for the sake of not giving an inch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Jack, she would not have relented. He needed a firm hand, couldn’t be allowed to gain ground, couldn’t be yielded to, would always make her regret any point she let him score. Byron, in contrast, was some guy who’d made a cursed career choice and wanted to see this stalemate end even more ardently than she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever else you end up doing,” his expression telegraphed a conviction that ‘whatever’ meant ‘endeavoring to be an endless nuisance’, and Valerie couldn’t say he was wrong there — “Don’t kill Aramis. I don’t think you will either way, but just so we have that settled, don’t. Dump him in the desert once you’re out of town, whatever, whichever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think I will,” Valerie bit out, frostily and with no small amount of irritation. With the glaring — literally, figuratively — exception of Axis, that appeared to be a shared assumption. A fact that, beyond being irksome, didn’t sit well with her in ways she could not name. “Well, far be it from me to disappoint. He’ll live. Now buzz off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled the door closed with a slam that made at least one of them jump. Then, fast, expecting them to haul themselves out of the way, she reversed out of the alley and onto the main road, pivoting the vehicle so it spun a perfect quarter circle to the left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tires would be irredeemably shot, but she’d blown her chances of getting back her deposit either way, with what she’d done to the driver’s seat. It swiveled drunkenly every time she changed direction, forcing her to hold on tight so she wouldn’t be spat backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s nose bumped against her midsection. Valerie started, stared, and pushed him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next stretch of street was straightforward enough that she could take her hands off the wheel and prop him back up in the passenger’s seat. She didn’t bother belting him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a fight in progress streamlining her focus towards issues of greater consequence, Jack’s lack of a shirt was a source of discomfort. She quickly dug through his pockets, unable to picture a less suitable or more uncomfortable time to do so, took his phone, called a random number with a Texas area code and tossed it out the window. Unlike Nick’s brick, Jack’s phone was sleek and modern. Still, Valerie was only mildly surprised when it took out half the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interesting. The destruction was not in proportion to the mass that triggered it, but increasing irrespective of other factors. Valerie could have sworn, too, that as asphalt got blown sky high, it screamed, belting out in voiceless, black and blazing rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma, who was knowledgeable about magic despite not using it herself, had once explained to her that after the death of the caster, spells were as flowers in a jar. They would last only a while, after which they became wilted and unsightly and fit for the trash bin. Yet sometimes, very rarely, a spell of enough complexity, by virtue of its components or its design, might keep existing beyond the life that had powered it. Like spider plants and geraniums and philodendrons and all plants capable of rooting in water, it would develop the means to thrive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those, according to Mrs. Drakma, were the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> most dangerous pieces of magic, for the sheer difficulty of disarming them. The number one spot belonged to spells that, besides lasting and lasting, grew a will of their own. Those were formidable because, like all living things with self-awareness, they wished to keep on living. Left alone long enough, they might even develop something like a personality. Usually not a pleasant one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ring of Tescara — aptly but ironically named after a deity whose purveys were memory and legacy — had at least enough of a proto-character to make it known that it wanted to hand in its notice, and that her refusal to let it do so had been noted and was in no way appreciated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie thought through her options as she swerved off the main road. It had been good for creating distance between herself and her pursuers, but would take her straight out of town if she kept on. Jack’s men presumed that leaving to call for backup would be her next move, so they’d expect her to head desertwards — Byron’s parting words suggested so. Whether they intended to honor their loosely struck agreement or station teams at Westmont’s outskirts to intercept her was immaterial, since she had no intention of leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had considered it, but only at first and never at length. The nearest town was a two-hour drive, dozens of tumbleweeds and many piles of roadkill away. On her way to Westmont, she’d made a short stop there to refill on water and snacks, and had noticed nothing amiss. With her inability to place calls within the confines of the Ring, and considering the dearth of resources at her disposal, she could see why they would assume that to be the plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time it would take for the drugs to burn through Jack’s system remained a question mark. He was a dangerous souvenir to take along when he could wake underway, and she had no means of subduing him other than bashing his head in continuously. Furthermore, there was no knowing what effects even a crumbling, labor averse Ring would have over her if she tried leaving. It was maybe sapient and perhaps unreliable and </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed off. If it struck, at best she’d have her awareness of the situation in Westmont removed from her head. At worst, she’d have her head removed from her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tackling the rescue of Westmont alone was madness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was also the only move available.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any case, she couldn’t keep driving around eternally. The Liberation Front had headquarters nearby, but those were a gamble on all levels. If much of the Westmont section had been captured, chances were that the place had been compromised and stripped of anything she could use. Whatever building would serve for squatting in and buying herself time to plan, but having Jack to lug around like an unwelcome, cumbersome and shirt-challenged travel case, made her first consider places where she might find the means to restrain him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t many that jumped to mind. Byron’s suggestion of dropping him off, if not in the desert, then down the first manhole she came across, started looking tempting. However, Jack running loose meant that his men would be egged on in hunting her by someone pathologically invested in their success, rather than be unenthusiastically doing their jobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keep your enemies close, and all that malarkey that sadly, Valerie did see the sense of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could also kill him and be done with him. He abundantly deserved it, and most of the big reasons didn’t even relate to her. Still — darkness and damnation, Nick </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrong. Every time she told herself that now was the time for the too personal, overlong game they played to be over, something within her would stutter — </span>
  <em>
    <span>but, but, but!</span>
  </em>
  <span> — beleaguered by rays of hope. Hope. Hubris. Valerie knew them diseases. She nevertheless balked at the price of the cure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her driving mapped a deranged pattern before she settled on a location. The Rivers siblings, with whom she’d gotten on well during her tenure with the Westmont section, had moved into her old place after her transfer. They would have used up the fifty gallons of paxpernia she’d left behind — it was a substance hard to come by, and expensive, so she’d told them to help themselves — but Valerie would be astonished if Johanna didn’t have enough explosives stashed in the basement to send half the town flying up in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brother would be of more use, though, if he was around. Jonathan was a magic user, and one of those bookish, scholarly types. She didn’t dare hope that she’d find them at the house, unless it was to find their bodies, but making a stop there would let her access Jonathan’s craft library. It was her best bet at improving her knowledge of what she was working against in some meager measure. So decided, she veered away from the commercial sector.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The window was still rolled down, so the smell hit her promptly, at once acrid and fetid and –</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Familiar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Going against every instinct that begged her to do otherwise, Valerie made a detour, chasing in the direction from which the scent came. Smoke and rot dominated, switching which was more overpowering with the flow and ebb of the wind, but a hint of ozone was perceptible underneath. She was well into the suburbs, the part of Westmont which least resembled the way it had been in the first half of the past century. Also, one she hadn’t often visited while she lived there, for the urge it gave her to go stand in front of the manicured fences and yell at the names on the mailboxes to please, for everything they held dear, move to a town less cursed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie slowed the jeep to a roll. Her gut twisted as she drove past the mounted-up bodies, making her glad that she’d last eaten hours ago and that there was nothing left to hack up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire had gone out days ago. It hadn’t been kept burning long enough to char the dead beyond recognition, let alone carbonize them, so they’d decomposed and filled up the street with a reek so pungent it made her eyes water. The whiff of magic past made Valerie suspect that Marabeth had been the one to light the pyre, and that it had fizzled out prematurely with her death. Jack hadn’t sent anyone to finish the job by more mundane means. It wouldn’t be something that occurred to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack. Who right now looked disarmingly, disturbingly innocent, slumped beside her with his eyes and mouth shut and his hair curling messily in all directions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Valerie drummed her fingers against the blaster, tempted, so tempted, yet still not enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She parked the car and spent a silent minute watching. She’d seen — not worse. It was impossible to measure grievousness when it came to these scenarios. It felt offensive to even suggest it might be a competition. Still, she had seen comparable, in the war. In the war</span>
  <em>
    <span>s.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’d seen it too, albeit more rarely, in what she’d once conceived of as peacetime, before learning that the lulls between the end of one war and the start of the next were best called ceasefires. Before knowing that in the end, life itself was one great war in which every formally declared dispute wound up absorbed, until the lines blurred and one forgot whether one stood saluting a pile of corpses in Belgium, Earth, or Osun, Cynihe, or in a too quiet neighborhood in a small to middling North American town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Valerie tore her eyes away and drove onwards, images of the dead chasing her long after they’d left her line of sight. Most if not all too old, or unfit. The Mayfly staff had gone through Westmont as reapers, separating the wheat from the chaff and rounding up the latter for burning. There were, she was certain, guidelines for how to go about it. Criteria people like Byron, like Axis, </span>
  <em>
    <span>like Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stuck to when making a call on whether this or that human was good enough to get a lifetime of rape slash getting worked like a dog instead of a broken neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie couldn’t help but think, as she turned the corner and relegated what she’d seen to the overstuffed basement of her subconscious, that although the Faith of the Awoken made no mention of hell, some among her kind were capable of building bespoke hellscapes that would make any god seethe with envy. Eager to do so, too, as long as they could make other people be the ones put through them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Socking an unconscious man in the jaw was pointless, but it made her feel marginally better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her old house was well camouflaged, squeezed between the backs of a grocery store and an auto repair shop and subtly cannibalizing their premises. From the street it was invisible. If one were to walk into the narrow alley that formed an upside-down L shape around the grocery store, they’d arrive at what looked like a filler wall between the two businesses, four feet wide and partially blocked by a trash container.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t know this address, Valerie was positive. Fifteen times she’d had to move over the course of her stay in Westmont, as he kept ferreting out where she lived. However, there had been no impromptu house calls from him in the three years she’d occupied this address.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard — nothing, with her ears or without, once she killed the engine. Nothing aside from Jack’s song, intrusive even with the owner out cold. Silence didn’t guarantee that she hadn’t been followed, or that she wasn’t watched, so she remained on alert while hauling Jack out of the jeep. The Mayfly didn’t employ only Tsikalayans. Ki laars made up the brunt of Marabeth’s — what had been Marabeth’s — workforce, and though those weren’t worth anything in a fight, they excelled at sneaking around. Sykes had brought Sorals with him, which might pose a true problem if there were more hanging around. They were, shitty healing aside, horrifically fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack made a yawning sound as she moved him. It had most likely been a liminal response to the change in position, but Valerie was unwilling to take chances, and whacked him over the head with a tire iron half a dozen times. Rather than awkwardly pulling him along, she slung him over her back and dragged herself to the trash container.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed it to the side, revealing an iron door one yard wide. Her key still worked, but the lock had always been capricious, and it took a while for her to remember the trick to get it to spring open. She pushed Jack in head first before coming through herself, paused to pull the trash bin in place and locked the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Security had gone to the dogs in her absence, she could already tell. The Rivers’ had done away with the number panel lock; Jo was frightful at remembering passwords, so they’d probably found the thing a hassle. In its place stood a reinforced door that might have been scrounged from a bank vault — good, approved, although insufficient to deter a Tsikalayan. In stark contrast, the locking system was one she could have bested easily, and Valerie was the first to admit that her lock picking skills were rubbish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Destined to remain so, too, since she didn’t practice them enough. She kicked the door down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alarm that should ring in the event of a breach had also been dismantled or turned off, since Valerie remembered it being both overly sensitive and brutal in its loudness and she’d just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gone and kicked down the front door. She left Jack stuck under the latter before venturing inside, figuring that it was heavy enough to give him trouble moving from under it if he woke unexpectedly, and her the time to intercede.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an eldritch quality to the silence that greeted her, and a strange relief at finding the place empty, especially after she’d seen those corpses. The flowery wallpaper was the same she’d slapped on so many years back. It had aged badly. The living room furniture and the knickknacks were also her leftovers and stood as she’d left them, although there were fewer decorative plates and the sofa was new. The Rivers siblings hadn’t made big overtures towards imprinting their personality in the space they’d overtaken, which didn’t surprise her. Jo wouldn’t be caught dead in a furniture store. Jonathan found old things atmospheric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie was pleased to discover that in among it all, they’d kept up her habit of tucking away a calamity kit in every room. There was one concealed behind the TV case, the same spot she’d used back in the day. There were essential supplies missing and no weapons save for a knife and a couple of loose slugs, but she did find a rolled-up length of chain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned the links between her fingers, tugged to test it for strength. It was tough, made of tungsten carbide or some alloy of equal hardness, and the links were seamlessly fused. Bound with it, she would have been able to break free eventually, but not instantly and effortlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She guessed it was as good as she could hope to get, found padlocks to go with it and dropped her haul on the coffee table. Next and last, she found a vial of what looked like diluted mercury hiding in an empty cartridge. She opened and sniffed it, to rule out the possibility that it was actually mercury, and despite wrinkling her nose at the cloying, ripe sweetness that invaded it, she was satisfied. Dumping paxpernia down Jack’s throat would make him as susceptible to damage and slow to heal as a human. The askara sword lessened her need for it, but it remained a useful thing to have on hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arms full, Valerie walked back to where she’d left her captive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was her mind playing tricks on her, or had Jack’s breathing changed?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took his pulse, found it snaillike enough. Reassured, she moved the door aside and turned over his prone form, looping the chain around his arms enough times to encircle the whole limb. It wouldn’t hold up longer than a minute after he started forcing, but since he wouldn’t be able to do so without her noticing, he’d have no way of launching a surprise attack. Next, she took off his shoes and socks, shook them to see if anything fell out, and went through the contents of his pockets. They were loaded with more trash than Nick’s — men, honestly! — but also turned out to yield something better than the depleted calamity kit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie’s hand closed around the silver circlet with something like reverence. It looked like a plain, bordering on crude, item of jewelry made for someone with massive hands and wrists as thick as ankles. A Willard &amp; Barrington energy damper; they’d become rarities since their inventor had vanished from his workshop five years back, more so after his business partner had destroyed the leftover stock, closed up shop and fled to the Bermudas, never to be seen or heard from again. It was assumed that the High Council had done Willard in and caught up with Barrington later, leaving no one alive with an inkling of how to build the things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had she bothered to put together a wish list, it would have earned its place at the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack waking before she had the means to secure him had been Valerie’s foremost concern, and it had just gone the way of the dodo. She was forced to undo all her previous work and remove the chains from his arms, since she’d made them swallow his hands also, but the setback was insignificant. With a damper on, he’d not only bleed like a human; he’d have the strength of a human and be rendered incapable of shifting as much as a nail. She hummed softly to herself as she slipped the band over his left hand. It was far too big a circumference for his wrist, but if she remembered how to do this . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed her finger against a sharpened canine and squeezed the tip until she had a sizable drop of blood, which she smeared over the silver surface. Using both her hands, she then surrounded the damper with her fingers and tightened up the circle, distorting and compressing the metal underneath until it bit into Jack’s skin. The second she released it, it glowed, shuddered and broke away from the wrist in two neat halves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held the hand up to eye level, examined the leftover marks. They could be mistaken for veins at first glance, if they weren’t growing in the wrong direction and did not stand out so starkly against skin not pale enough to make such a thing plausible. They wound around his wrist, cyan ink marking the previous location of the damper, indelible unless one removed the limb, or earned the cooperation of the person to whose blood the damper was keyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as Valerie was concerned, Jack could either grow the balls to chop his hand off or keep the mark forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled him with her, him still boneless, into the bathroom, where she dumped him inside the shower unit, chained his hands again and pulled him up so that he was backed against the wall. The end of the chain she tossed over the shower head, which was fixed in place so thoroughly that with diminished strength, he’d have a hard and noisy time trying to dislodge it and likely still fail. The other end she looped around the diverter pipe. Lastly, she padlocked the last link of the chain to the piece she’d left dangling from Jack’s bound hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not a setup that she could see him getting out of on his own, and therefore it was with no small amount of relish that Valerie backed out and threw the door closed on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having Jack handled was the removal of a weight she’d been all too conscious of carrying. Valerie pocketed the paxpernia. She hadn’t resorted to it in the end, as using a damper already had a mild inhibiting effect over healing. Not as strong of one, but since she didn’t know enough about the consequences of dumping paxpernia on top, she’d rather leave it at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crossed the house. Slightly guilty at the prospect of invading the privacy of her colleagues, she walked into what used to be her room, backtracking once she realized that Jo had been the one to lay claim to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan had made his room in what had been her office space. Predictably and contrasting to the spartan minimalism of Jo’s accommodations, it was cluttered to the point of overflow with occult thingamajigs of suspicious utility. There were books too, though. Were there ever books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie scanned the titles of those that had them, some being coverless or handwritten, leafed through the ones that didn’t, and put aside everything that was in a language she could read. She returned to the kitchen armed with everything she could carry, spread her spoils over the table and went back for the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her last trip, she spent a minute on the assortment of swords, kris, athame and daggers that Jonathan kept in an umbrella stand. They all struck her as too ornamental to have ever seen a fight or do much good in one, but they’d been carefully sheathed in sensible leather scabbards. She found one matching the length of the askara sword, replaced the sword already in it and bound it to her waistband, so that she wouldn’t have to keep fearing that she’d cut herself by having a blade dangling at her hip unprotected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She also, after a moment of heated inner debate, grabbed a shirt from the closet, making sure it was the oldest, rattiest one she could find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of water whooshing from a tap, coming from the other side of the house, made Valerie briefly freeze and then sent her sprinting. She crashed through the corridor and living room with the sword drawn and barreled through the kitchen door, all in less than five seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once there, she tried and failed to comprehend the scene before her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How. Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How was this, somehow, what her life had come to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t happen to know where they keep the sugar, would you?” Jack’s back was turned, but he had his arms raised in plain view, the blue mark on his left wrist displayed for her convenience as he perused the contents of the cabinet over the sink like he didn’t have a care in the world. He clicked his tongue. “The humans who lived here don’t value organization much. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> still take your coffee with sugar, right? Otherwise there’s no point in trying to hunt it down in this pigsty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the last drop. Like she’d woken from a dream, Valerie shook herself and stalked over, grabbed Jack by the shoulder, turned him around and backhanded him with such force that his head flipped around and hit the corner of the range hood. A small drip of blood trickled from the corner of his lip; he licked it clean, unfazed, a ghost of a smile threatening to turn his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie tightened her grip on the sword and pointed it at the center of his chest, in case he got it in his head to shift. The damper’s mark wouldn’t let him, she reminded herself, but somehow, she was neither comforted nor calmed by the assurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How in darkness did you get loose</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to do something about that temper of yours. It’s getting out of hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she demanded. “I left you chained up after using a damper on you, you should—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You left me chained up in the company of a sizable and slippery bar of soap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie’s memory helpfully supplied a picture of the bathroom. There</span>
  <em>
    <span> had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been soap. Yellow soap with the brand print still intact, sitting on the side of the shower tray, against the bottom of the stall panel. She scoffed; there was no way for Jack to have reached it with his hands, even if she entertained the notion that he’d extracted himself from a bind like the one she’d left him in, in as short a timeframe as he’d been afforded, by making himself slippery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t grab a soap bar with your hands chained above your head. You didn’t get out of those chains with soap, period.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t grab it with my hands. I grabbed it with my feet, which then lifted it up to my hands.” Jack shrugged at her icy, skeptical expression and turned away as if there weren’t a red silver blade aimed at him, as if he were concerned with nothing so much as fulfilling the task that had engrossed him before her arrival. “Go on, picture it. Or try to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe . . .” Valerie trailed off, let her sights stray to the counter and made an inventory of the objects set upon it. Mismatched cups on matched plates; an aluminum tin with the word COFFEE minted on the lid. A translucent container two thirds full of water that she deduced fit in the red and gold espresso machine taking up half the counter next to the stove. A new and expensive looking addition, she thought, with the detachment she only achieved when her brain was two thirds of the way elsewhere. “Tell me the truth. Now. Or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pink cup or blue cup? I’m afraid those are the options; these humans are extremely tasteless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impulse to defend her colleagues pulled stronger than the sensible voice telling Valerie to not engage, give no quarter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those were mine. This used to be my place when I still lived in town.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deadened, shellshocked statement had a dramatic effect on Jack’s stance. His arrogant demeanor didn’t vanish, but hair thin cracks threaded its surface as he looked around, considering his surroundings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the wallpaper,” he volunteered. Valerie shook her head. It was that or bash it against the sink in a fit of pique at his refusal to take the situation, or her, with a semblance of seriousness. More so at her own failure to make him. “Where did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>keep the sugar? Perhaps the rats haven’t moved it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you noticed, but,” she started, because to be fair, it was possible that he hadn’t. Jack wasn’t entirely all there, after all. “You are a prisoner, in no position to do anything about it, and unlikely to be rescued soon, since your men didn’t even try to prevent me from taking you in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I told them not to stop you, if it came to that.” Jack waited for her to be done gaping, with a patience that was the provision of stereotypical Buddhist monks and certain subspecies of angler fish. When Valerie managed to seal her lips again, he grinned like they were sharing a private joke. “I won’t lie, I went into that fight expecting to win, but I’m not bothered about this outcome. As I’m sure you’ve guessed already, since otherwise I’d have been out of the door before you noticed I’d come to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hadn’t guessed any such thing, what with her concept of reality having taken hit after hit after hit to the point where she wouldn’t feel shocked if ripped open and candy fell out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way I get to spend time with you,” Jack said, as though that were a sane sort of answer. He slid two steps to his left to replace the water container in the espresso machine and place the pink cup under the tap. Valerie was too benumbed to do more than poke him halfheartedly with the sword as he moved about. “All we seem able to do when we stand on equal footing is argue. I thought that if I let you be in charge for once, we might—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought you could, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what,</span>
  </em>
  <span> induce some crazy sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome?” Valerie pressed a hand against her forehead and stared through her fingers, quivering with second hand embarrassment while Jack pried the lid off the coffee tin, calm as you please. “This is beyond . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>how absolutely out of your mind do you have to be</span>
  </em>
  <span> . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lima,” he told her, selecting a capsule from the ones in the tin and clicking it in place. Valerie returned a look that was wearier than anything, having yet to move past the fact that Jack was</span>
  <em>
    <span> really</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to brew espresso while held at sword point. “The phenomenon through which a captor develops feelings for their prisoner is commonly known, in this earthen vernacular which you insist on speaking, as Lima syndrome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point she would have to remove her palm from her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not just yet, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what the proper terminology is. You’re insane. Sit the fuck down while I—” No, that would mean leaving him to his own devices while she got the chains. She likewise couldn’t knock him out the usual way, having used a damper on him. The chances of brain hemorrhage were slim, since his healing factor should remain active enough to account for such minor things, but it was an unnecessary risk. “Actually, come along. Move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie found the chains piled up outside the shower unit, intact right down to the padlocks, speckled with water and exceedingly slippery. She snatched them from the floor without a word and hauled Jack out again, paying no heed to the smugness radiating from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the kitchen, she set the chains down at a safe distance from the books and picked up the old shirt she’d tossed on top of those, all but pressing it into his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put this on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shook out the clothing and held it at arm’s length, eyeing the holes and abstract patterns where Jonathan had spilled things that had never washed out with blatant scorn. Valerie remained disappointed that her colleague was too much of a sensible dresser to own some gag shirt that Jack would have rather expired than be caught wearing. Worn and unsightly would have to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m not walking around in some human’s rags.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m not inclined to allow you to either walk around or argue, so put it on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you.” Jack dropped the shirt on the table and moved away as though convinced that she would let him. Valerie hauled him back with more force than advisable, considering his </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicate</span>
  </em>
  <span> condition, and threw the shirt at him again. Once again he batted it away, looking rather blighted as he did. “Why are you so dead set on me wearing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I can’t have you out of my sight, and if you are going to be within my sight, it won’t be chained up and shirtless.” Though not shoeless, which left her both dumbfounded and indignant. She’d taken Jack’s boots off by the entrance, implying that he had meandered there, seen the door not just ajar but on the floor, and elected repossessing his footwear and finding a coffee maker as his priorities. It didn’t sit well with her. Neither did the way his eyes narrowed knowingly, as though he realized — or </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>he realized — something she did not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it would disturb you, or distract you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Put. It. On</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Valerie slapped her forehead, willing the stress lines there to ease up. “I don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with your bullshit, as I’ve got plenty of it to sort through already. If you are remotely serious about wanting to hang out without it being an endless row, start by making yourself decent and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shutting the fuck up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed the shirt onto him one last time. She was nothing short of stunned, although she quickly hid all signs of it, when Jack pulled it over his head with no further complaints. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re angry,” he said, as Valerie stood bracing herself for the next annoyance and holding back her disbelief. “I apologize. I’m not trying to be difficult. I do want to make this work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to be made to work out,” she told him. She gestured at the sturdiest looking of the mismatched chairs around the table. Maybe if she played it smartly, she would eke out a shred of peace from her stay at the house. “Sit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a delay between Jack assimilating the command and him moving to occupy the chair, but at least she didn’t have to force him into it. Valerie’s eyebrows climbed so far up that the next bout of uncharacteristic complacency would get them lost in her hair. Her instincts would shout ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>trap</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, were it not for the blue mark that restricted Jack’s capacity for funny business and him obeying with the look of someone with a toothache chewing on salt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this the part where you threaten my life unless I tell you everything I know?” he asked, once she’d finished decking him in chains with what some would call an overabundance of zeal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the questions I have, I can get a better answer for from this almighty pile of books than off your lying lips. So be quiet and let me read.” Her hand reached for a tome at random while her foot shuffled a chair from under the table so she could sink down on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the none too pleased twist of Jack’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her first five minutes of reading were a waste. The weight of her captive audience’s gaze, which she couldn’t help but be aware of despite not once looking away from the pages, made it so that the sentences before her eyes blurred together and reached the inside of her head all jumbled. She wasn’t so much making headway researching as she was killing time as she waited for the shriek of the proverbial kettle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly, it stunned her that it was taking Jack so long to hit boiling point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t get anywhere if you keep acting like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shrugged. It turned out that Jack was easier to tune out while he spoke than when he stewed in silence, and for the first time she had the sense that bits of text got through to her. She leafed back to the beginning, decided that a monograph on Monian magitech was both too far above her knowledge level and likely useless, and put it away. The next one she tried had no cover, index or title. Browsing the chapter headings suggested it to be a history book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood on the verge of placing it on top of the monograph and building the beginnings of what could wind up being a depressingly tall discard pile. However, it contained a section on the pre-Barashi epoch. Valerie paused, fingertips hovering over a page taken up entirely by a map. A map of worlds, different from any she’d seen. It showed the Bound Worlds and the locus they revolved around, and the gate network interconnecting them. So far, so the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world at the heart didn’t read Barashi, however. Barashi was found elsewhere, orbiting the emerald green sphere labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>ટ્સિક‍લ‍લ્મેસૈ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a smaller gray circle among many others. More, at least, than the Bound Worlds she’d grown up knowing. Ida was one she’d never heard of before. Nor was . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stirrings of memory, of being adrift in frightening darkness and in even more frightful company, brought to Valerie’s mind an exchange from long, long ago. Gatemanship, lost with the fall of the Old World. Men who had mucked with matters meant not for their understanding. Unknowable roads best left unknown. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where we all start from and to which we all return . . .</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>. . foolish . . . tear through . . . never learn the truth .</span>
  </em>
  <span> . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie tapped the browning paper thoughtfully, unease growing within her like a fungus. There was — even working from imperfect intelligence, there was too much that gelled oddly when she thought about how the razing of Westmont had gone. Too many things ranging from the very unlikely to the heretofore thought impossible, too much that was a little too inconvenient to be coincidental.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lost spellwork from a lost world turning up in a mailbox.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A town which she’d always regarded as the safest hell on Earth, set ablaze without warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magic outlasting its expiry date, alive and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The humans you let squat here are likely dead, you realize? If those books are theirs,</span>
  <em>
    <span> well. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taking out the magic users on your side was among the first things we did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—alive and angry, a state which she came to resemble as fast as greased lightning. Hatred flared up inside her, and before Valerie knew it she was on her feet, book cast aside, hand on scabbard, murder in her gaze and on her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That provoking her had been the goal, that getting a rise out of her was the reason Jack faced her with a broad grin and eyes glinting with triumph, didn’t dampen her rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyone else would have taken one look at her and made sure not to further stoke her ire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyone but Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did I upset you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to upset you, you know. Still, if you are going to ignore me, I have to get your attention somehow.” He leaned in as little as the chains let him. Valerie brought the sword up, creating a sharp barrier between them. One wrong move, she swore to herself. Another word out of place. “You won’t hear anything more from me about your humans, hand on heart. Just don’t make as if I’m not here. As if we don’t have things to discuss that are of greater consequence than whatever you hope to find in some dusty old—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a fist through your ribcage? Because this is how you invite a fist through your ribcage.” She jerked him forward and leveled the sword with his throat, pressing it against the pulsing vein at the side. A red line appeared and leaked. Jack tilted his head aside, appearing more bored than worried that she’d go beyond nicking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a look withering enough to turn cider into vinegar, released him and retreated into the book. It turned out to be more useful for what it had reminded her of than for any new information it contained. There was a puzzle waiting to be worked out here, behind magic that obfuscated the moving gears of someone’s plan. It was too tidy a confluence of variables for none to exist. Whose, though? Jack could be ruled out, but . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gates, places vanished from memory. Marabeth at the center of all that, except the witch was dead and ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>all that’</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been a strange spot to find her standing anywhere near to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why, though? It had been unexpected, but hardly out of character.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Foolish,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a cold voice snapped throughout an even greater cold, stepping out from the shadow of years and decades. Valerie almost had it — would have had it, if Jack hadn’t started chafing from being told to keep his trap closed and launched into a tirade. She ignored him in favor of pondering ways to gag him. While ransacking the living room, she’d spotted the skeleton of a scarf, abandoned on the couch along with two balls of yarn. Jonathan’s, likely, as she couldn’t picture Jo having the patience to knit. He probably wouldn’t be too cross if she sacrificed it for her peace of mind. Those balls had looked the perfect size to stuff into a mouth that refused to stay shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was shaken from her plotting by a chirpy </span>
  <em>
    <span>beep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it finished preheating the water.” Jack took a break from whatever he was flapping his lips about in order to jerk his head at the espresso machine and smile in a congenial way. “Can you get us our cups? I would, but I’m afraid I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie glared, holding back the urge to brain him with one of the thicker books. She stood up abruptly, marched towards the fridge, found what she’d expected to find where she’d expected to find it and walked to the counter with the sugar jar in hand, rolling in petty enjoyment when Jack’s countenance morphed from priggishly self-satisfied to incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was in the fridge? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ants.” She pulled what would have been a testing shot into the pink china cup and set it down in front of Jack, unsweetened, which was how he liked it. She’d give her left arm to stop herself from remembering details like that, but no matter. She pulled a proper shot in the blue cup after replacing the capsule, spooned sugar in until the result could be more accurately labeled caffeinated syrup, and returned to the table, where Jack pulled resentful faces at his own cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unclear what about it he found objectionable — the pink? The wateriness of the content? That he couldn’t reach and drink while chained up, making its presence an obvious taunt? He didn’t enlighten her by complaining aloud, and Valerie didn’t care enough to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drank. He watched her drink. The resulting quiet was fragile and imperfect. It felt as though her lips smacked like whips against the painted ceramic. It felt as though the coffee went down her throat roiling like river rapids. Jack was silent in the way of people who’d intended to stop being so but gotten themselves sidetracked. The mesmerized staring bothered Valerie less than the softness of the smile he directed at her when he caught her eye. He looked pleased, too pleased. A can of worms to open — another time, when she summoned the energy and the patience she abundantly lacked at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie went back to trying to squeeze something useful out of so much inscrutable paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Valeriana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t respond to that anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Valerie</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jack drawled, the concession visibly paining him. Still, it was one rare enough to merit a sliver of her attention. “We left our last conversation hanging on a distasteful note. I didn’t get to explain myself as well as I’d like, and I fear that you may have been left with . . . the wrong idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean the idea that if you get your hands on me, I won’t fare better than a captured human? Fully agreed on distasteful, but I fail to see what about it I parsed wrong?” She smiled sweetly while Jack looked — livid? Hurt? Offended? He shook his head, as if the need to justify himself taxed him beyond measure. Like an astronaut faced with someone discoursing flat earth theory, trying to cobble together the wherewithal to address the nonsense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, this is why we need to talk. You hold this wrongheaded notion that I’ll treat you as a slave when, as I’ve repeatedly told you, I only want to fix what went wrong with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And as I’ve repeatedly told </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, nothing went wrong with us. You went wrong.” Valerie fought the urge to rub her forehead, lowered her eyes to the history book and decided to temporarily trade it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Building Blocks of SpellCraft, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the cover of which showed all the hallmarks of being targeted at a younger and presumably dumber audience. The magic user’s equivalent of a middle grade science textbook. “You can’t fix us. How could you? You won’t even bother to fix the real issue: </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There, done. Good talk. Let’s never again. Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy like this, Valerie?” He stressed the name with mockery and spite, and Valerie scoffed, because although at the moment and for reasons all pertaining to him, she was not a happy camper, she felt content about the shape of her life. “I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen you smile for a nice reason, you know? These days, it’s as if someone has to be bleeding out on the ground for you to light up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bonus points and increased brightness if that person is you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See? That’s what I mean. What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you are not hopping around the globe, fighting the good fight? Who are your friends? Do you still dream about anything beyond collecting enough rescues to convince yourself that you aren’t the abomination in need of redemption that Aunt Briseis made you believe you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the fifteenth hundredth iteration of this discussion. She could conduct it on autopilot. Even so, the gall required to pose questions like those defied belief. Asking who her friends were, as if she could keep any without risking them being massacred for mattering too much. Asking if she had ‘collected’ enough saves when she could only think of the people she had failed for having spent so long a time blind to what he was. Asking about Mrs. Drakma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t owe you satisfactions about the life I – and note this word – </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She finished her coffee. She was both proud of her restraint and disappointed in herself for not breaking the cup over Jack’s head. “Sucks, doesn’t it, when people have free will, want to keep it, and there’s nothing in blessed darkness you can do about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we go again</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not trying to strip you of your free will. It’s a mate bond, not slavery. I remember when you used to understand the difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just hadn’t bothered to look close enough to realize that in virtually all cases, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there is no difference</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” If mated to him, magic, divine blessings and stupid, stupid biology would ensure his control was absolute. The bond would inject love in her heart and warp a smile onto her lips, and everything that was left of the person she’d been would wither, suffocated by layers of saccharine devotion. Mate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Master.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had taken her years to see that the line between them was so thin there might just as well be none. “Do you also remember how getting mated worked out for your parents? For mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack pulled a face, scoffing. Classy. Classic. Tell him something that clashed with his narrow-minded worldview, and he would stick his fingers in his ears and his head up his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not our parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she agreed. “Our parents were willing to be bonded and at worst neutral about each other. Oh, and none of them had a price on their heads. Did you bother to factor that detail in while planning our future? You’d never be able to return to Barashi, or any world under Council rule, again. Not to mention you’d have a fun and fruitless time finding a priest willing to mate us. I think I set every temple on this continent on fire at least once. Priests are only second to slavers when it comes to professions whose members want my head taken off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to hear that Aunt Briseis also made you a heathen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no beef with the Pantheon,” she answered, and truthfully at that. She even still prayed when she found the inclination and the occasion. “The gods need to revise their hiring policies so that there are fewer pricks working for them, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s something,” he conceded. “As for the rest you mentioned, yes. I’m pleased to say that I did look for ways to work around you being a serial killer while planning this out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Around I—</span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, it doesn’t bother me,” Jack stressed. “You’d be surprised, too, with how much you can get away with if you talk to the right people and your interests align. I won’t face prison time if I bring you back home, although your concern is appreciated. If you truly irked so many priests that all of them refuse us, well. Nick’s mother wanted him to take the veil a couple of decades back, he technically knows how to conduct a binding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. That’s it. This conversation is </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that followed was too deep, too weighted to be mistaken for acquiescence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me one thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has nothing to do with putting Nick in a robe, I promise.” Jack was unfazed by her glare and also by her tossing one of the discarded books so that it knocked over his cup, spilling espresso over the edge of the table and onto his pants. He took it as his cue to press on. “Was there anything I could have done that would have made you want me? Would it have mattered, if I had told you I loved you before that night in New York?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie snorted. Gods. That he had to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You being too craven to speak up before then was the only saving grace in the entire mess, trust me.” She could only imagine how hard that hit would have landed if they’d been lovers rather than friends. “I’m curious; do you think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>have reacted terribly to learning you were working for Marabeth if we had been in a relationship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we had been mated—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slammed the book closed and looked him straight in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we had been mated, Jack, I would have slit my throat with my own dagger rather than spend the rest of my natural life chained to someone capable of pulling the crap you did. That’s what would have happened. Or — did you think that a mating bond would have changed me so much that I wouldn’t have minded? Or that you could have wiggled out of the situation by commanding me to forget?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t put words in my mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re no more damning than anything you would, and have, said of your own volition.” Her smile was sharp and thin and she cut herself with it more than she wounded her target, but no matter, no matter. Breathe and get through it. “I mean, isn’t it why you are insisting on that? Because if we were mated, you’d be able to brainwash me to the point where I’d stop seeing all you are, all you do, as problems?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s body twisted with what looked like whiplash, the whole motion so bizarre that Valerie needed a moment to understand that he’d forgotten that he was chained and had attempted to stand up. The way he held himself after the chains did their job of keeping him seated — stiff lipped, while vibrating with pent up emotion — was a sight at once difficult to bear witness to and impossible to look away from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The purpose of binding you to me,” Jack hissed, snarled, she couldn’t find a proper descriptor for the sound he hurled at her but it had </span>
  <em>
    <span>teeth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “is to keep you from running, to make you stay by my side, for however long it takes for you to understand how I feel about you. I don’t want to change you. I want you to stop deluding yourself and denying—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enlighten me. What am I supposed to be in denial about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was beauty to the face Jack made in response to that question. Like an erupting, lava spewing volcano, it was undoubtedly a disaster, yet one couldn’t help but marvel at the colors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he breathed, with despairing fervor, as if the possibility that she wouldn’t believe him might shatter him. Here they were again. Same old road. Same song, playing like they’d never danced to it before, like her feet weren’t tired and her patience shot to rubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know you love me, you plague ridden dingbat!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It brought Valerie no joy, pride or solace that she was the one who ended up making a dramatic stand, looking down on him with an excess of emotion, conflicted for pitying him half as much as she wanted to tear him a new one for the nerve, the colossal nerve. “Do you hear me? Are you listening? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know! </span>
  </em>
  <span>So what do you expect me to do with that? I’m not a mirror! You can’t just confront me with your feelings and expect me to reflect them! That’s not how people work, Jack! That’s not how anything works!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to reflect,” he retorted, sounding calm, all things considered, all things being the fact that she stood over him spitting mad. “I expect you to understand that at some point you must have loved me, and that a shred of that has to remain buried somewhere. Because you can’t tell me, can’t convince me, that throughout all these years together there was never anything felt on your side, or that there is nothing left of that feeling anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would kill him. Strangle him, cut him up, gouge out his eyes and break his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I</span>
  <em>
    <span> did </span>
  </em>
  <span>love you!” Jack’s eyes went comically wide at her outburst. It might be the first time in their shared history that he listened </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>because she was shouting. “It just wasn’t the love you wanted, was it? It was the wrong kind, it wasn’t enough, and so you took it upon yourself to improve it, and now here we both stand and</span>
  <em>
    <span> oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, trust me. There is not a shred of it left!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence, loaded like someone had taken the moment existing in the space of a breath withheld, when sound drained from the world in anticipation of the coming explosion as a grenade sailed through the air, and stretched it out to cover seconds, a half minute, a whole minute, time which Valerie stopped bothering to count. Silence, waiting, silence that waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fell back on her chair, fury ebbing and regret settling in its place. She shouldn’t have—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you think—” Jack’s voice was as soft and low as hers had been loud and harsh. Valerie didn’t know what expression he wore because she’d buried her nose in the book and wasn’t planning on dragging it away, come what may. “I never meant to make you think that I didn’t enjoy what we had. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>what we had. If I hadn’t been happy with it, if it hadn’t meant enough to me to make me terrified of ruining it, I would have told you of all the ways in which I want you at least fifty years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Fear of rejection was truly madly deeply why you didn’t say a word. I buy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mm-hm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What other reason could you think I had?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that you’re only going all out in your attempts to capture me now that Marabeth is out of the picture? Almost as though she might have been a factor holding you back. I mean, if you’d shown up at the Mayfly with me slung over your shoulder, saying that you wanted to mate me, she’d have disowned you in two seconds flat. And, let’s go one step further; if you’d gotten away with it somehow, made me yours forever while she still lived and breathed . . . can you imagine what family dinners would have been like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Jack’s face suggested that yes, he’d pondered such horrors at length.</span>
</p><p><span>“Fine. I’ll confess that the fact that my aunt would have </span><em><span>murdered you slowly and painfully</span></em><span> if I suggested that I intended to make you my mate weighed into everything going as it did. Not wanting to ruin our relationship was still the</span> <span>deciding factor, however. If anything — if there is anything I regret, it’s that I told you too soon. That I didn’t wait until I knew beyond any doubt that I’d gotten your feelings to match mine.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Why would I ever want to match your love, Jack?” Valerie smiled as softly as he’d spoken, words as measured as they were unfeeling. “It’s worthless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pause that followed would have made a glacier shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worthless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there an echo in here? Yes. Worthless. And useless, since at best it didn’t prevent you from becoming a monster, and at worst inspired you to be more of one. You want time with me so I’ll understand your feelings, but — I do. I’ve been aware of them for twenty-five years, and you have yet to give me a single fucking reason why I should care, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>are you ever going to let me finish reading in peace or do I need to put a sock in it</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” A smile burned its way onto Jack’s face, at first with reluctance but eventually coming to glow like a thousand suns and stretching more grotesquely than if he had shifted his mouth. He cracked his neck, where a sloppy smear marked the spot where she had let the sword take a bite off him. “Now? Now we do this the other way around.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie caught up with what she saw — tendons straining as Jack tossed his head back to expose his neck further, the lack of a cut to go with the drying blood — extracted the meaning of his words, processed it all and, moving with the dreamy sluggishness of a sleepwalker, ran a finger along the sword blade. The skin split cleanly, only to heal just as neatly in instants, as it would if the cut was from an ordinary blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack leaned forward, further than the chains should allow, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprise,” he drawled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>worth it to find out that the sword was a fake, since it meant that she could bury it deep in his gut without thinking twice. Jack grunted and looked down with an expression that tried to pass itself off as unflappable. The red metal — admirable work now that she knew it to be a forgery, Valerie had to admit — jutted out of his midsection. Around it, darker red blossomed and spilled onto the chair and floor when she pulled back the sword, like splatter painting gone wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way in creation that Jonathan’s shirt would bounce back from this. Oh, well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack still smiled, and didn’t look like he planned on stopping. He ripped through the chains as though they were made of licorice strips, proving that the damper had likewise been tampered with, because of course it had. The most damning thing about all of it was how big an idiot she had been. She’d known she couldn’t trust him. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>trusted him. Yet she’d gone and relied on the very convenient device which he’d conveniently had in his pocket as her main means of controlling him, as though she didn’t know what breed of snake she was dealing with.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie cannon balled away from the table and still wasn’t fast enough. She glimpsed Jack’s hand in the corner of her eye before her head got caught in an iron grip and slammed into the floor. It took her a second to wobble her brain back to its rightful place, and by then, he had three tentacles out and was crouching down beside her, eyes shiny with delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Valerie thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t bind her at once. He patted her hair, smug as anything, and grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her so they sat on the floor facing each other. Valerie tried to headbutt him, though tentatively, since her head was still ringing. Jack evaded her and, gentle as if she were made of the finest china, as if he hadn’t just rammed her against the tiles with no warning and without regret, cradled her neck and massaged the point at the back of her skull where the brunt of the pain radiated from. His other hand he lifted to her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie tensed, then squirmed. Jack tutted his disapproval and scratched under her chin. She made out the damper’s mark, still there, still blue, but fading by the second. Her lips parted to form a question. It went unspoken when he held her hand and she, in trying to snatch it away, realized something that immediately jumped to the top of her list of concerns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t. Her arm didn’t move as it should. It twitched in his grasp as he turned her palm up and traced the lines there. She commanded it to pull back, make a fist and strike him, make a claw and tear his face off. There was a reaction this time, but one that came in so delayed that Jack had no trouble working around it, and one she had to will and focus on strongly to manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She struggled however much she could as she was forcibly nestled in Jack’s arms, since it wasn’t just her hand, although her hand was the worst offender; her entire body had become slow to comprehend and obey the orders she gave it. “What did you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shook his head, regarding her flailing attempts to break free with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, deflecting her attacks with chilling ease. Increasingly desperate, Valerie ran the events of the last few minutes through her mind, seeking an explanation for whatever this was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fell on the blue cup, sitting innocently where she’d left it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coffee. She swore under her breath, half wanting to deny and disbelieve, a quarter angry at herself for not having entertained the possibility of it being spiked, given that Jack had a history of doing exactly that. Then there was another quarter of her that felt nothing other than mystified, since she had searched him, and he couldn’t summon poison out of thin air, so where by all the gods had he been keeping it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t think I’d allow myself to be — I suppose we can call it ‘captured’ — without some assurance that I wouldn’t remain a prisoner if the position stopped suiting me, did you?” Jack was telling her this as his hands swept wild strands of hair from her face and his palm came to rest under her chin again. He made her look up at him, landing himself on the business end of a death glare. He snorted. “Don’t be mad that I outsmarted you, Val. It was bound to happen. Learn to be sporting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sword, a fake.” She could still form words, even if she had to concentrate on the motions of her tongue rather than it going where it ought to on its own. “The damper—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d already keyed it with my blood before you used yours, and they’re single use; it’s the first drop that counts. Made it easy to will off afterwards.” Something seemed to occur to him. He shook his head with wry amusement. “You don’t know how worried I was that you’d notice the shower ripped off the wall when you went to get those chains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Valerie spat. The world couldn’t decide whether to wobble or go frightfully still, like a movie that kept freezing and resuming. Her mind, at least, wasn’t clouded by whatever she’d been given. “The coffee, poisoned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drugged,” he corrected with an eye roll. “A harmless neuromuscular blocking agent. It should have had more of an effect by now, but I’m stunned it’s working to begin with, what with all the sugar you dumped on top.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it wasn’t in the . . .” she trailed off. Considered what the outcomes for this predicament would be and whether any of them could be turned in her advantage. In an unknown length of time, she’d be rendered incapable of putting up even the palest shade of a fight. The odds that she’d make it away and evade capture in her current state could be said, without sugarcoating or self-deluding, to be nil. She’d be caught and end up at the Mayfly, where Jack would use a functional damper on her to curtail further escape attempts. De-powered and in his power. A worst-case scenario to top them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, though the hand she’d been dealt was by all metrics a bad one, if she played it right . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it wasn’t in the sugar. Nor in the water. The blue cup — I thought you’d pick that one. The substance is colorless, so you wouldn’t see it coating the bottom. You might have noticed the coffee tasting off, there was no helping it, but then you dumped half a pound of sugar in, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you smuggle that crap in here, I went through your pockets—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her another pat on the head, condescending as anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all of them. I confess, I’m glad you aren’t acquainted enough with male underwear to realize that, but disappointed that doing a more thorough search didn’t even occur to— </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah, ah.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stop hitting me.” She wasn’t hitting him so much as lashing out at her surroundings. Targeting her strikes was a bust, but probability said she could land a blow by accident if she spread the attacks far and wide. Jack put a stop to it by enveloping her in a hug that shared more similarities with an attempt to smother and lifting her off the ground. “Up we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had feared that he would bypass the living room and take her to the jeep, trashing the best among the half-baked plans spinning around in her head. Instead, Jack made a detour towards the couch. He swept a tentacle over it to remove the pillows and remnants of knitting in progress, set her down and sighed when she immediately threw herself off, the movement clumsy and uncontrolled and ending with her hitting the side of the coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, are you jealous that someone is encroaching on your territory?” she snarled, fighting to right herself, to stand. Navigating her body felt like crossing a ship deck while drunk. If she could bring herself to focus, get in sync with the swinging of her disobedient feet, she still wouldn’t last two seconds in a fight, but she might coordinate a sprint towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jack lifted her up and eased himself down on the couch alongside her, so they both lay sprawled with his arms bracketing her and tentacles looping loosely around her midsection. Valerie had seen his next move coming from miles away, but that didn’t mean that she was prepared when he trapped her face between his hands and brought his mouth crashing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smothered the urge to bite and kept her lips lifeless under his, thinking of nothing, ignoring how the kiss felt softer, warmer than it had any right to, how it tasted like regret and ancient, unpleasant history. It wasn’t a long kiss, thankfully. Jack broke away, not letting go of her face, and combed his fingers through her hair, his expression unfocused, dreamy even. He smiled at her as if she were his lover, lying under him willingly. Like he expected her reaction to be, if not joyful, at least resembling something positive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Valerie posed the question in the tone that a detached bystander might have employed. Carefully void of both accusation and emotion, as though his reply would be just a footnote in her assessment of the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack eyed her, expression far from emotionless but so guarded that there was no decoding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Giving you reasons. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie lost her dull facade like it had been torn off. Jack mistook her shock for horror — partly it might be horror, although flavored differently than what he was used to — and brushed his knuckles against her cheeks, his fingertips against her temples, his lips against her hair, with light touches meant to calm the storm he thought he saw brewing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sucked in a breath. Prayed that he’d hold off from kissing her mouth shut once words he didn’t care for started spilling from it. His left hand — or was it a tentacle? They were pressed together so tightly and his touch so everywhere that she’d lost track of his limbs — drew lazy circles around her belly button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what you think should make me come around?” It sounded more ludicrous, somehow, said aloud. “One kiss, and I forget the blood on your hands, the lies, your unyielding inability to take a godsmade </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Is that seriously how you believe this will go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just one kiss,” Jack corrected. Their mouths clashed, his hurried, hers slack, offering no resistance when his tongue sought entry, sliding past her lips, flicking against her teeth, growing bolder when there was no fight from her end. It was like the bit where he’d held and helped himself to her in the jeep, all over again. Honestly, much as one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth or complain about an excess of trust coming from a foe, Valerie worried about his short-term memory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All my compliance is only ever a smokescreen</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a lesson one would think he’d remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited until Jack had roamed the whole of her mouth, until his priority shifted from exploring to eliciting a reaction beyond lackluster compliance. He prodded her tongue, chased it as it curled back in retreat and there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> tongue was past her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise he made was a combination of a pained gasp with a surprised exclamation, only with the air going in the wrong direction. Rather than blowing his scream into her mouth, it was as though he sucked it inwards as he tried to dislodge his tongue from between her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good luck with that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Valerie thought. If he tried pulling harder, he’d leave behind a piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually Jack registered that much, since he changed tactics, applying pressure on the side of her jaw to pry it open. She let him succeed, finding that there were other hills more worth dying on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you said you wanted to fix us—” she snarled, while Jack gulped noisily, as though spitting out the blood welled up in his mouth like a normal person were below his dignity. “Was this how you meant to go about it the whole time? You had twenty fucking five years to come up with a strategy and assaulting me was the best you could think of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the one thing I hadn’t tried already.” His voice was rough, whether from the strain of holding back screaming or some more complex emotion. Valerie gave even odds to both. “You clearly didn’t care about everything else I offered you, to be able to walk away as easily as you did. You didn’t care for my company, our shared past, the comforts I can offer you, the life we could have together, the fact that I love you, every golden memory—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget your cursed fashion sense; I’m fairly certain I never cared about that.” Flippant as she sounded, Valerie wanted nothing but to crawl into the couch and disappear from the face of the Earth. Jack responded to her attempt to sink deeper by pushing his full weight down on her until pent up springs dug into her back, leaving no room to avoid him further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—so in conclusion, I am left with no resort other than to make you want me for my body.” His voice dipped in volume, turning feverish as he held her tighter, pressed all of himself against her. Valerie could close her eyes and still be aware of his shape. She knew likewise that if she could make one of her hands obey her unconditionally, it wouldn’t work to budge him off of her. It would go splat against her forehead, or perhaps cover her mouth, which was hanging open in something a bit like horror, a bit like ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>what the ever-loving shit?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Or, more properly, want me for what I’ll do to </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> body. I’ll show you. That’s a promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie considered explaining, like one would to a small and unrelentingly dim child, that dangling a carrot in front of a horse was only an efficient strategy if the horse liked carrots, wanted carrots and didn’t have a host of primarily negative experiences relating to carrots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end she saved her breath, knowing that the argument would fall on deaf ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack kissed her again. She was past the biding her time stage. Her teeth were digging in his upper lip from the get go, making obvious what she thought of his assurances. To her consternation, he only slightly adjusted his position while murmuring something like approval, and then he emulated her, nipping at her mouth until she stopped adding teeth to her own attack and his tongue could slide in, pushing insistently to goad hers into battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie visualized the path laid out before her. Walked herself through steps that in normal circumstances she could have taken in her sleep. She’d have one shot and no more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let an arm drop off the couch with enough spasmodic flair that Jack would think nothing of it, if he noticed the movement to begin with. Her fingertips brushed the carpet. Her hand lolled loosely from her wrist, frustrating her to the point of screaming because she wasn’t lacking strength; the problem was that the coordination to apply it where needed had gone to the dogs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doubts, too many, all inconvenient, bobbed up and down in her surface thoughts like ducks dunking for bread. Did her hand feel heavier than it had moments ago? Did her legs? She’d need her legs, so if the drugs weren’t through with incapacitating her, she had to make a move now. By the same token, she couldn’t risk failing because she’d hurried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s tongue was in her mouth. His palms framed her face. She’d have bitten him again if she wouldn’t rather keep him distracted. Was she still touching the rug? The pad of her thumb had just brushed against something that registered as cold, not fabric. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span> One of Jack’s hands had left her face and moved to her neck, down, further down . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He interrupted his ravishing of her mouth to speak words that Valerie lacked the capacity to mind. She was too busy telling her sluggish neural pathways to please </span>
  <em>
    <span>grip, grip</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her arm had somehow fallen just right; she only needed to convince her fingers to contract, the arm to bend at the shoulder and elbow. Grip, bend, swing. Pray her aim was, if not true, then not all the way off. One chance to make this work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hardness pressing against her hip. Jack’s lips miming the movements of speech against her jawline, soundless, or perhaps there were words and they didn’t reach her, what with the world having been put on mute. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grip. Bend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Eyes on the target. Eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swing, and strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sound turned on again, although Jack was likely having the reverse experience. The piercing noise that tore out of him was heinous. He fell back, off her, arms swinging around in their attempt to pull the knitting needle out of his ear. She’d failed to jam it where she wanted – blinding him would have been more useful than deafening him – but the strike had made up in strength for what it lacked in acuity, and with a bit of luck she’d given his skull a hard enough knock that he’d need a half minute to get himself in shape to chase her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie slid off the couch, sucked in a breath and made a mad dash, not for the exit that was pointless to reach for, but towards the door on her left that led to the kitchen. Her feet felt heavy, at first as if she were running through shallow, glurge-y water, then increasingly as if someone had strapped leaden weights to them. They tried to split in different directions. She forced them through the steps she’d outlined beforehand, realizing with quickly stifled concern that she was losing feeling everywhere below her knees, and just about tripped through the door and rolled into the kitchen before they gave out under her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine, it was fine. She’d only used ten seconds. Judging from the cacophony behind her, Jack was gathering himself and sending the knick knacks on the shelves to meet their maker. Crash, there went those decorative plates. Still fine. She had a bit of time left, and that was enough to buy herself a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen had no exit aside from where Valerie had come in through. There was another door, but it led into the pantry where, if she recalled correctly — and she hoped to the gods she did — the spare propane tanks were kept. Right. Drawers first, tanks after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head spun violently as she dragged herself to the counter by the strength of her hands alone. She pawed at the handle of the nearest drawer, pulled it out the whole way, got caught in a shower of dish towels – wrong drawer. The second she tried contained cutlery, which she narrowly evaded as it too rained down. She scanned her findings, thinking at light speed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cudgel . . . perhaps, for the tanks, but then again no, never mind, she’d only cut herself open trying to use it on them. Stainless steel chef’s knife, no, too big, but then again, nice enough to use as a decoy if Jack asked himself why she hadn’t attacked him with any of the knives scattered on the floor when there were so many. She might get some slices in. It was all down to how much coordination she had left over once she was through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paring knife, wooden handle. Better size, if she could get rid of the handle. Perhaps too small, though. Boning knife, same wooden handle, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sharp enough</span>
  </em>
  <span> – she nicked herself on it as her slackened fingers struggled to snatch it up along with the decoy, because she was fresh out of seconds to deliberate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie crawled into the pantry with both knives held to her chest and her heart in her ears. There were tanks, two of them. She fell upon the first, punching it at random until enough blows landed true to burst the shell and drown the space in a cloud of gas. She pondered breaking another, but no, no time. She tossed herself against the stacked shelves, upturning them so that they blocked the doorway and set loose a tidal wave of canned beans and packs of rice and pasta, leaned against the wall and started shimmying off her pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?” she heard Jack say, behind the blockade. Valerie’s eyes followed his voice, making sure that although she could see parts of him peeking through the gaps in the shelf frames — he was armed with the blaster which she hadn’t even noticed him grabbing off of her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid, inattentive, idiotic</span>
  </em>
  <span> — he couldn’t make out much of her or, more vitally, what she was doing. The cloud of gas coming from the pantry was pungent enough that he had to have smelled it from where he stood and become wary, because he’d stopped rather than barging in at once. “Val. What do you think you’re playing at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave, or I’ll blow us both up.” Valerie hadn’t had the time to hunt for a lighter, so there’d be no way to make good on the threat even if she meant to, but as a bluff, it was serviceable. She sucked in a breath, looked at the boning knife precariously held in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing for it. She stood no chance of avoiding capture, but she could improve the position she’d be in afterwards. Deep breaths. One, two, stab and push, push, break off the handle – try not to cut off hand whilst breaking off handle, too soon for that – force the blade portion of the knife into the fleshy underside of her left thigh, ignore her nerve endings rioting, the screams of alarm from the bits of her brain that had just now woken up and realized that she was once again doing something mad and reckless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignored him. Push, push, until the glinting metal vanished under her skin, until the last of it was swallowed by flesh. There was blood, briefly, but she wiped it before it could run down and stain her clothes, and then the burst vessels purpling the section where she’d sheathed the knife healed over, leaving no sign that there was anything there other than an uneasy slicing feeling when she moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie pulled her pants back up. They’d hang loose if she were able to stand, since she’d snapped the belt to get them down instead of fiddling ineffectually with the buckle. Shaking and, partly in shock with what she’d done to herself, or perhaps because the smell of gas clouded her mind, she laughed. She laughed and laughed, semi-hysterical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not funny,” Jack said. He was shoving the shelves aside, so she could see all of him now. He looked more or less composed, despite the amount of blood matting his hair on the left side of his head, but annoyed. More so when she tossed another gas tank at him, which he had to duck to evade. He wasn’t done righting himself before she forced him to duck again, this time to avoid a can of tomato sauce. Beans, next. She’d resorted to plucking objects from the floor at random and hurling them around, expecting that if she got a tenth part of them to explode in Jack’s face, he’d count this as a hard-won victory. “Don’t make me come get you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will, regardless of what I do. And maybe I’ll light this fire regardless of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>do. A spark! A big kaboom! There we go, bits and pieces of us spread all over town, dying together in as sentimental a deed as you’ll ever squeeze out of me. Or one of us lives and inhales the other’s ashes and carries them in their lungs for days after. How is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> for romance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you need to get out of there before the fumes turn your head,” came Jack’s dry retort. “You don’t want to die. Not even to spite me</span>
  <em>
    <span>; especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to spite me. Besides . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>as if I’d allow it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of blue. The magic smelled so much like the gas that Valerie had overlooked it, and her body bent in entirely the wrong direction when it sought to evade the blast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world turned to black-and-white static as she dropped like a stone. There was pain — so much of it — but pain had never stopped her before, so she gritted her teeth through it and tried to grab the chef’s knife. Only her arms didn’t seem to want to move at all. She shook them, but they cooperated even less. If before they’d been errant, rebellious, now they might be made of overcooked pasta, with how unresponsive they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sight returned, piecemeal, but Jack’s profile remained spotty when he crouched down and took her hand. She could, however, make out a smirk, which was a depressing non surprise. She could do nothing but lie there. Putting up a fight seemed like a distant dream. Even when she’d been in a state that semi allowed it, this was an outcome foretold. He would have her. Briefly, but he would hold the most power he’d held over her in twenty-five years of enmity. Small wonder he wallowed in smug self-satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie thought back to the jeep, thought back to moments ago on the couch, thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>not just one kiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all that might entail, thought of the way he had touched her, thought of the hunger lurking in the depths of his gunmetal gaze, of the self-control he’d always lacked and of how once his thoughts were set in a given pattern, they could only be redirected through judicious employment of a crowbar. Lastly, she thought back to that evergreen question; if handed the chance, would he dare take it all the way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would he at the very least hesitate?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack passed one hand around her back and sat her up, causing every thought to vacate her mind while she struggled to stop her boneless frame from sliding out of his grip and end up quivering on the floor, among spilled beans and a murder’s worth of tomato sauce. No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the tomato sauce might come in handy for disguising telltale blood stains – too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how well you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> deal with losing.” Jack’s tone was conversational, incongruously light. For once, he noticed her not paying attention, and waited for the light of understanding to flicker back on instead of talking through her stupor. In the meantime, he kicked away the decoy knife. “I know that you have a hard time giving up, too. However, I hope I won’t need to press you further to get you to recognize that there is no – </span>
  <em>
    <span>why are you laughing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because her voice was the one tool in her arsenal that had been hindered as opposed to nullified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because it was funny, in its gnarly, twisty, deranged way, that he made her wish, more than anything, for a mirror she could shove in his face to show him what having a hard time giving up looked like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Jack wanted her laughing at him in inverse proportion to how much he wanted her to smile without guile or traps hiding behind her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several replies sprung to Valerie’s lips, most of them about pots and kettles and glass-roofed houses. She swallowed them all and laughed harder, because although she didn’t know – had never known, not really – the man holding her, she knew things </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Like which buttons to press so he’d blister himself from how hot his rage burned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack lifted her and carried her into the kitchen proper, one hand under her legs and the other beneath her back. Valerie objected to it on principle and would have objected vocally, were it not for a nascent suspicion that protesting would see her slung over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get away with this,” she mouthed. It didn’t reek so strongly of gas here, although only by comparison. Should a human wander in there, they’d race back the same way they’d come, like a bat out of hell. “I won’t let you win. Good will triumph in the end, the evil that is you will be vanquished, everyone who can will make it out of this town. All your best laid plans blown to dust because you are—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set her down on the chair he’d previously occupied, eyed the broken chains before seeming to conclude that he’d wrecked them too thoroughly to bind her with. Although there was little point in binding her, when him holding her by the hair was the only thing preventing her from slumping forward and banging her head on the tabletop. He pushed the chair against the table so she couldn’t fall off so easily and slowly lowered her head, gently resting it on the wood. Valerie shuddered, feeling wrong in her own shape for an abundance of reasons, never least the fact that there was a knife in her thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane, rotten</span>
  </em>
  <span> . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, Jack did not try to kiss her, although his thumb traced her mouth, chasing her bottom lip when she sucked it in. It was unclear why. He had her perfectly positioned, pliable as clay, in no shape to put up a fight. Perhaps whatever look she wore was a turnoff, or she smelled too much like an impending explosion to make the prospect of trading saliva as tantalizing as it would have been otherwise. Be that as it may, Jack’s hands withdrew, skimming her arms on their way away before leaving her entirely to collect her empty cup. Valerie’s reaction of surprise when he paced towards the counter was contained, but she couldn’t mute an uncomprehending exclamation when he stopped by the espresso machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An errant limb pulled open a cabinet – the same one he’d been rooting through when she’d found him in the kitchen – and grabbed a minuscule ampoule, half full of what looked like water, that had been hiding behind a cookie jar. Jack gave her his back as he puttered about with the things on the counter and the machine hummed. She didn’t bother to keep track of his movements, already having a solid enough idea of what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All out of stock phrases? That was fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to do this. This isn’t the way. I know that if you look deep within your heart—” He’d placed the steaming blue cup on the table and divested himself of the shirt she’d made him wear, maintaining eye contact throughout. Valerie prayed for strength. “— actually, never mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep your hands and your yogurt gun to yourself, else by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be in so many scattered pieces that whatever god lands the task of returning your sorry ass to Darkness Everlasting will feel as though they’re on a scavenger hunt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t deal well with losing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you wouldn’t recognize the hypocrisy inherent to that statement if I rubbed your face in it . . .” Valerie trailed off, watching him blow on the cup. Scowled. “Wonderful. It’s not enough that you’ll force feed me poison, I’ll also have to ingest your germs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paralytic, not poison,” Jack countered, returning the scowl without bite. He seemed to be in too high spirits to be affected by her bile, although she was dolling it out by the gallon. He dipped his pinky in the cup after blowing on it again, ostensibly to spite her. “I think this is a good temperature. Not that you’d care about burns, given that you just threatened to make me snort up your ashes. Although, come to think of it . . . I didn’t see a lighter anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was bluffing, you cretin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guessed as much. Here, I think I’ve added an adequate amount of sugar.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He positioned himself at her back and turned her, and the chair with her, away from the table, raising her to a sitting position and placing a hand at her nape so that she wouldn’t collapse sideways.Her neck still kept a residual mobility, though it felt limp and her coordination was shot. Valerie spent her thimble of leftover energy struggling in Jack’s grasp as he angled her head and pressed fingers against each side of her jaw to force her mouth open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she managed was to fall against him, and although some coffee got spilled, enough remained in the cup that Jack didn’t look as vexed as he would if she had disturbed his plans even slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tentacles came sliding up her shoulders, locking her arms against her torso and snaking up her neck to get a hold on her chin. More bound her legs, although Valerie suspected that those were meant to make a point more than they were evidence that he found her lower body worth restraining. Her awareness of the knife remained, sharpening whenever Jack moved her, worsened by the position he’d sat her in, but it was a sort of discomfort she could think through now that she’d halfway lost feeling below the waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t request that she drink. Perhaps he wasn’t so out of touch with reality as to believe she would, when she knew what the cup contained. Perhaps it was also that he didn’t want to offer another opening for her to deny him, since that seemed to get his goat even worse than her laughing at him. He tipped her chin up and, instead of pressing a finger against the corner of her mouth, used the tapered end of a tentacle to make room between her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie still bit him, but without previous exposure to a softening agent, his appendages were tough and rubbery and didn’t forward stimuli with enough acuteness to incapacitate. Jack hardly flinched when the tip of the tentacle got snapped off. He simply tilted her head further up so that the detached piece fell against the back of her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie sputtered and coughed, pondered swallowing just to spite him, thought better of it when it occurred to her that he’d be thrilled to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> part of him inside her. She couldn’t spit it out, however, since the rest of the tentacle blocked her mouth. Which left her in the ungainly position of having to push the severed flesh around with her tongue as she fought to bite off enough, fast enough, of the rest to spit out everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack watched her struggle with an expression both nonchalant and sardonic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough?” he asked once she had to pause the shredding, her mouth having filled too much to allow such liberty of movement. Valerie shook her head. Never give an inch, never let him gain ground. Jack heaved a sigh and pried her lips apart, this time daring to use his fingers, as she’d left herself no room to bite. He pulled out one of the larger pieces of severed tentacle and tossed it like a piece of chewing gum that had lost its flavor. “I’ll remove the rest . . . if you agree to let me wash down the taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, she also didn’t have enough room to let him know what else he could remove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stared at each other, his gaze patient, hers fulminating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not so bad, Val. Giving in. I’ll lie you down to sleep, and when you wake, I’ll show you why it’s senseless to keep resisting the reality of us being made for each other.” Spoken like one who’d watched too many plays. The kind in which fate made absolute fools of men and women who seemed plenty foolish to begin with. Valerie would have blamed Marabeth, but Jack’s twisted notions of romance had in all likelihood been conjured without her aid. The woman had seemed like the type to consider love a mental illness. In her nephew’s case, she wouldn’t even have been far off the mark. “You’ll like the life I’ll give you. You’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie spat out the leftover pieces of him. Jack smiled, looking as gratified as if she’d yielded. Maybe he’d mistaken it for yielding. Maybe she was indeed yielding, as she had no struggle left in her and was getting a stiff neck, and when he made tweezers of his thumb and index finger and pinched her tongue to her mouth floor, there was so little she could still do that she might as well have given up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syrupy poison pooled in her mouth in a slow but steady trickle until she choked, not even intentionally. Jack paused the pouring while she cleared her windpipe, discovering the task more cumbersome than it should be. Whatever the substance was supposed to taste like, she couldn’t detect a trace of it as it coated her tongue on its way down. Only coffee, just as sweet as she liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She choked again, this time on her own resentful wrath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack pressed the rim of the cup to her bottom lip so that the last drops would cling to it and rubbed them in. Then he considered her, waiting for something Valerie didn’t care enough about to puzzle out. She slumped against him again, having lost the will to stretch out this portion of the trek ahead. When the paradoxical effects of what he’d force-fed her – caffeine and muscle relaxants, taking all the longer to kick in for how much the contrast confused her body – started showing, she was already a third of the way gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack looked the faintest bit bothered by her lack of reaction, which was risible. Had he hoped to leave her so addled that she’d beg him for kisses, cock, praise his coffee making skills? Thankfully, there weren’t many concoctions capable of breaking someone’s brain that badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had a weak impression of moving, being moved, but didn’t feel the ground disappear from under her feet, since she couldn’t feel her feet. She was aware of Jack’s arms slung around her and the tentacles holding her aloft simply because she had them in her sights. Her body had been imbued with a bizarre, floaty detachment that made it feel as though his grip on her were no more substantial than the tickling of a feather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes and focused on her heartbeat and her breathing, finding them both so frail that she thought, for one irrational instant, that she was leaving her body altogether. Tenuous, sapless pain radiated from her left leg in slow pulses, easy to ignore yet peculiar, as even before the second dose of drugged coffee that part of her had been dormant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still was, at that, except for the spot where the knife sat. A flareup on a phantom limb that happened to still be attached. The reason for it became clear once she wrenched her eyes open and took stock of where she was. Jack had ensconced her beside him in the jeep, in a position that would have caused her strain even without the blade-in-thigh factored in. Valerie hoped that all the moving and changing positions hadn’t made it break through her skin; if she started bleeding, Jack might notice and make it all have been for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was digging through the glove compartment. Valerie remembered, much too late, that he’d had close to a minute of sitting inside the jeep while he waited to ambush her. Time enough to secrete away all manner of things; weapons, trackers, more drugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to slap herself for failing to consider the possibility. Another oversight among many. She ought to have dumped the asshole in the desert and tried reaching the next town over, Ring of Tescara be damned. She was better than this, when the matter didn’t involve Jack. When killing could be her first, middle and last resort without a gnawing sense of aversion, melancholy and glasses tarnished but still rosy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d found what he was looking for. Door number three hid the winner, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘more drugs’</span>
  </em>
  <span> took home the championship. Why Jack needed them was a question best left to the discretion of whatever god cared to contemplate the matter. She was satisfied enough with defaulting to ‘he’s not right in the head’ as her answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The syringe was a twin to the one she’d used on him and filled with similarly colored liquid. Bar unexpected amplifying interactions between all he had been plying her with, she judged that she’d be out of commission for a similar or shorter amount of time. Fifteen to twenty minutes, if her guess for how long it had taken him to come around was correct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t inject her immediately. He held the syringe between his fingers like a jazz baton, a frown etched on his brow, his expression becoming pinched for a fleeting moment. He laid it aside, but not out of sight. Valerie experienced neither gladness nor relief, because the next second he pulled her half into his lap, making her head rest on one of his forearms. He exhaled contently, while in the faraway foreign land that was Valerie’s lower body, sinews shook and shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been five minutes since you’ve last insulted me, two since your last attempt at assault and battery.” Fingers stroked her face, lips, hair, causing her to question how well Jack knew the effects of what he’d given her, since she would have been hard pressed to tell what he was doing to her should she allow her eyes to fall shut. Was he aware that she couldn’t feel him touching her, the only saving grace among it all? Or was it that he knew but found it irrelevant, persisting for the sake of his own gratification? “I think this is the most relaxing time we’ve had together in decades.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nn</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said. Her lips had been replaced with gummy worms. If he were to kiss her there it might be the strangest feeling kiss in a hall that contained no examples that could be called normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, don’t ruin it.” Gray limbs slid over and between and around her own, weaving them together. There was a book in front of her face, suddenly. The words on the page Jack opened it on appeared blurred, but she recognized the cover. The magic for newbies manual. What in the world . . . “You were enjoying this one, weren’t you? Certainly preferred paying attention to it over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie pondered the likelihood of Jack being on the verge of gruesomely slaughtering a book, of all things, for the unforgivable crime of her having used it as a vehicle to ignore him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given his track record, she found it disturbingly likely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “. . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>the complexity of a spell consistent with and equal to that of the object that serves as its binder, circumventing the atrophy brought about by the caster’s passing into Death</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Catching herself listening mid-sentence, it took Valerie longer to assimilate and figure out that Jack was reading to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, numbly and fuzzily. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is happening.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack appeared more focused on the cadence of his voice, striving for a gentle lull, than the contents of what he read her, as his delivery didn’t change when the text segued into sacrifices living and dead used as spellbinders and the top five best ways to weaponize the talismanic properties of blood ties. He stroked her hair as he read. Valerie wished that she couldn’t read his face as well as he read off the book. She wished it weren’t written there so plainly, that he was no longer in the jeep with her, sitting among the ruins of all his mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d taken himself elsewhere, to a beach or an orchard or somewhere quiet in a bustling city. Pretended that he existed in a place and time where, were he to lift his eyes from the book, he’d see a girl who looked exactly like her smiling at him, entranced and appreciative.</span>
</p><p><em><span>That idiot is dead, you killed her, I killed her, good riddance either way, </span></em><span>she wanted to shout.</span> <span>But she made no sound, two-thirds of the way gone, lost to the sound of Jack’s voice, to his song, his heartbeat so much steadier than her own, the warmth of his body wrapped around her as though promising that all would be well. A lie as nice as the ones he fed himself.</span></p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn’t know, in the end, if he injected her on the sly or she wound up fading of her own accord. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Catalyst</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every minute that Jack didn’t return brought Valeriana closer to cracking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps she’d gone overboard in blocking all chains of thought liable to make her panic. It had only made her dissociate from her circumstances, to the point where she felt as substantial as dreams built from sea foam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever parts of her mind hadn’t turned into inscrutable badlands were riddled with intrusive pictures. Dark sand. The silvery gleam of starlight on water. Hands dripping scarlet. A body, no head, blood on her tongue and on her dress and everywhere other than in the song she’d silenced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana put her back to the garden wall and slouched in the shadows under the palm trees, darting nervous glances at the passersby, praying for time to lapse faster. She only noticed the figure making its way towards her when they got close enough to grab her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, as fortune would have it, was exactly what they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nnn</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she said, more in surprise than alarm. The black, heavy dress — how was the woman not all shriveled up from sweating, wearing something like that? — the ramrod straight posture and the copper red hair, lacquered into submission and confined to a tidy bun, were all familiar, if not comforting. “Oh, Lady M—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close your mouth and walk.” Jack’s aunt, as fearsome bathed in orange light and dappled shadows as she’d been while moonlighting as the wraith in the ballroom’s corner, seized her by the arm and marched her down the path at breakneck speed, neglecting to release her until they stood in front of a secondary building detached from the tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an air of cultivated disinterest that was Tess-levels of flawless, the woman pushed Valeriana against a column of a nearby arcade and stalked towards the entrance ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grasping that she wasn’t supposed to follow, and that moving or making a sound louder than an exhale would have dire consequences, Valeriana put her back against the cool rhyolite and breathed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This was . . . still the better outcome, although a cowardly part of her whined that she might have felt more at ease in fearing arrest. It remained unclear how much Lady Marabeth knew, how open Jack had been about the night’s events — where in darkness was Jack, at that? Why hadn’t he—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rumbling </span>
  <em>
    <span>vrrrwam</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded behind her. The source, a vehicle puttering down the driveway. Valeriana shuffled to the side and poked her head around the column, attempting to see past the blinding yellow light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An automobile. Lady Marabeth owned one of those, although this didn’t appear to be the same one she had in Lenosh. The one Jack had once borrowed without permission. The one Valeriana had let him talk her into sitting in while he took it for a spin. Since he hadn’t found it worthwhile to inform her that he’d never learned to drive it, the entire business ranked among the most singularly terrifying experiences of her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The automobile, of indiscernible color under the cover of night, lurched to a halt some distance away, pointing towards the sloping road. The lights flickered on and off. Valeriana didn’t see how it was possible for a mechanical contraption to give off an impression of impatience, but this one did in spades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slunk around the back and stopped, praying that someone would open the door, as it wasn’t apparent how the locks worked. No such luck. She took ages with them, as she didn’t want to pull and risk pulling too hard; damaging Lady Marabeth’s property was unlikely to endear her to the woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth barked an instruction at the person behind the wheel. Or what Valeriana gathered to be a person, given that she hadn’t gotten a good look at them. The crossness radiating from her as Valeriana sheepishly settled inside was scorching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between them as they got moving, leaving Valeriana feeling an uneasy mixture of rude, relieved and restless.She hadn’t said her thanks yet. Still, since she had an inkling that opening her mouth without Lady Marabeth prompting her would do the opposite of improving the general mood, she kept quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made it past the secondary gate, leaving the Glass Tower behind. The ride turned out less frightening than Valeriana had steeled herself for. Whoever drove them actually knew how to, as there was a lack of blurry scenery spinning round and round, or of her throat being flayed raw by screaming as she held on for dear life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, they were going fast, though she only gained a real notion of </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> fast when a tapestry of light flares emerged in the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That can’t be the city, can it?” she whispered. It was the first sound to be birthed during the journey other than her sharp inhalings whenever she remembered she needed oxygen, the brisk yet precise notes of the only blood song within hearing and the noises typical to mechanical whatsits in motion. “It was an hour long trip by carriage, and it’s only been . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s the city,” Her assessment of Lady Marabeth as someone who disliked idle chitchat turned out correct. The contempt was so strong she could taste it. “You’ve never ridden in a car before, have you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana nodded a lie, not wanting to tattle on Jack on the slim chance that his escapade from years ago had gone undiscovered. Although considering that the vehicle had been missing two tires by the end, she very much doubted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father doesn’t trust them. Says that they are a fad brought here by colonists gone native on their worlds of residence, who have lost all sight of what it means to be Tsikalayan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How old is that man again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five hundred and forty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll waste his youth with that attitude. What did you do with the body?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was jarring to be forced to think back to . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The dismal time she’d had searching for a stretch of sea where the current was strong enough to wash away the body. Then, scanning the beach for spots where the sand needed to be overturned to hide the blood. Touching Ralen one last time and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I threw it — </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>— in the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth’s face was so slow to move that it put Valeriana in mind of a glacier. Her lips, perhaps her sole feature capable of expressing emotion, twisted in disapproval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In this area? He’ll rot up to his eyeballs before there’s a wave strong enough to wash him onto the high seas. I wouldn’t like to attend that burning ceremony. The amount of incense required to cover up the stench . . .” Valeriana, who hadn’t given that any thought, looked at the woman in appalled amazement. Lady Marabeth returned the stare with eyes that were just like Jack’s, except hard. Contemplative. “How did killing him make you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be shy. I won’t tell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t matter.” Lady Marabeth smiled, not nicely, not in a remotely reassuring way, and made a dismissive gesture at the unseen driver. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Refusing to answer was seemingly not an option. Valeriana examined the rust stuck under her nails and bit her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The body. Everything it had taken to turn a man with a whole life ahead of him into a bygone. Bones breaking and skin and flesh rending, so much of his blood in her mouth she’d choked on it, and nevertheless persisted until the fine thread that bound head to neck snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How had it made her feel?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heinous</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be the decent thing to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Powerful </span>
  </em>
  <span>was more truthful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t right,” she whispered, afraid to raise her voice. That would make her sound too comfortable with what she’d done. She wasn’t that far gone. Probably. “Still, after everything, I can’t bring myself to regret it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods above, why would you? You could for sure have made less of a mess putting him down, and you might also have planned it better, but since my nephew told me it was all very spur of the moment, I’d call it — not </span>
  <em>
    <span>well done</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no, yet decent for what you had to work with. Don’t regret. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Be proud</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana shrugged and focused her gaze on the serrated city line, pretending that the validation didn’t feel treacherously warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll stop by my rooms so you can change into something travel appropriate and I can arrange for my belongings to be sent to the gate. Ki-laar Seven will take you in around the back so you’ll go unnoticed.” Lady Marabeth gifted her another pointed, unsettling smile.The driver – Ki-laar Seven, one surmised — turned its head, causing Valeriana to swallow a squeak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature looked like it had been purposefully designed to chill every spine in the vicinity. Bone white skin stretched paper thin over bony cheekbones. Eyes all black and shaped like coins shone dully back at her. A straight purple line stood in lieu of lips. It wasn’t the first time Valeriana had encountered one of them; she’d spotted some sneaking about during visits to Jack’s home. She’d never seen them up close, however, and therefore had never properly appreciated how frightening they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said, letting her voice tremble only a little. “Will Jack — will he join us there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’ve instructed him to stay at the ball and let everyone know that he infuriated me so much that I’ve decided to return to Earth, so as to not endure the sight of him a day longer. Not too far fetched, considering the extremely public exchange we had earlier tonight. If he doesn’t botch it, I’ll be afforded a degree of plausible deniability on this matter. I will add that he was rather against leaving you alone in my care, for whatever reason. Suffice to say, I wasn’t having with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are about to start with that nonsense, you may as well be silent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk again for the rest of the journey.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As a child and in adulthood, Valeriana’s favorite indoor part of the Lazur estate had been the altar room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was grand. The walls there were palimpsests, pregnant with spidery ink lines. Transcripts of psalms figured in abundance, as was the expectation for a place of worship, but the widest wall featured, instead of holy script, a map. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barashi stood at its heart, as it ought to. Around it, drawn in smaller scale, the Bound Worlds, bright circles taken up by place names and tiny multicolored flags. Enveloping them all, the gates, represented as curlicued golden whorls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t say how often she’d hovered her fingers over it, never daring to touch for fear of rubbing the paint off. How many times she’d repeated a wistful ‘someday’ in the privacy of her mind while her tongue wrapped around the unfamiliar names. Samkrim, where they said the ocean was salty enough to be walkable, where a red sun set in a green sky. Caedros and Hemetea, twins and opposites; one frozen down to its deadened core, the other sporting a surface prone to changing its mind about wanting to be solid. Kaldiciperia, with its gleaming cities of quartz and fool’s gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other nations, worlds distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorted.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Valeriana jumped, not having heard Lady Marabeth approach. Then again, she could just somewhat hear herself think. The world gate terminal was crowded worse than Lenosh’s main square on market day, the background noise echoing deafeningly in the cavernous space. Lady Marabeth, to whom the hubbub would be old hat, slapped a piece of paper in her hand. “Your travel documentation. From now until you are through the Earthen checkpoint, you’ll be Vee sa Whatnot. Rutha? Check, I think that was it. Can you fake a Ruthan accent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uhm . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> then. In that case, nod and smile and pretend to be mute if anyone bids you to speak. Keep your eyes down, too. You are gaping at everything like a simpleton. Usually I wouldn’t take the walkway, but since it makes it easier to pretend we have nothing to do with each other, we’ll slog through it. Follow me until we’re at the checkpoints. After, you’ll walk in front of me, no more and no less than ten feet away, so we don’t appear to be together and I don’t risk losing you among the unwashed riffraff. Questions?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. Come along and </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t follow me too closely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .” Valeriana trailed off when the woman’s arched eyebrow reminded her that she’d been commanded to silence, starting seemingly immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheeks flaming and stomach twisting, Valeriana followed, unsure how Lady Marabeth knew the right direction with so many bodies flowing past every which way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted ways at the checkpoints, which Valeriana discovered were a nightmare unto themselves. Dozens of small cubicles spread along an arched wall, none of them numbered or displaying information, and if there was a rhyme or reason to whose turn it was to approach them, she couldn’t discern it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her relief, when a gate officer two stations to her left signaled her over, was unbounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsikalayan?” The man wore an overtired expression and only wasted a fraction of a second on her papers. Remembering Marabeth’s instructions, Valeriana nodded. The officer’s eye twitched, but it might just be the weight of the bags set under them, since his tone remained lifeless, bored, droning. “Proof, if you please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Valeriana tried not to visibly panic. Was this standard procedure? She’d never been asked to provide evidence that she belonged to her kind, couldn’t fathom why it might be needed when she was standing right there, as . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>. oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The noise, of course. He couldn’t hear her blood song. That, thankfully, made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifted her teeth and flashed them. The officer stamped her papers without a pause and waved her through. She couldn’t help but wonder how Jack’s older brother handled these things. Perhaps he had faked documentation also, and unlike her, Berthold could manifest tentacles. Or perhaps it didn’t matter that he was mixed as long as he had Tsikalayan in him. She wasn’t certain what the rules were for those situations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth, who had probably glared her way past the checkpoint in two seconds flat, stood waiting without making it look like waiting. Valeriana endeavored to appear suitably mortified as she moved into her orbit and then past her, wrestling with the compulsion to check if the woman followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was less confusing on the other side, with everyone moving in the same direction. There was even a triage of sorts happening further ahead, with people getting sorted into formal, organized lines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was once again asked to provide evidence of species and hustled behind a family of five. The children, suicidally determined to get underfoot, kept forcing her to grind to a halt so as to not stumble over them. Behind her, a woman carrying salamanders in a shallow basin cooed at them in what sounded like Drakoe dialect. She would splash water against her back every time they advanced a step, but Valeriana couldn't summon the courage to confront her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queue was rumpled and unruly, but at least it moved swiftly. When Valeriana turned to look, so many people had been added to it and so many heads stood in the way that she could no longer see where the line ended. Where it started was, at least, clearly marked by a golden sign hanging from the rafters, where Earth/Gate 3 was written and underlined in Barashnik and Kaldian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s daydreaming of otherworldly sights hadn’t often featured Earth. Jack had been born there, and from the way he spoke of it, Valeriana gathered that he didn’t much like it and wouldn’t bother going back if his relatives on his mother’s side didn’t take exception to him not visiting. He’d called it cold and mind numbingly boring and full of humans, a cultural desert with too many factories stinking up the place, where the food was so vile that he wouldn’t feed it to a dog – the only entities contained on Earth that Valeriana recalled him saying something </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an opinion best taken with a sack of salt, since Jack was also prone to complaining about Lenosh in ways she found neither fair nor warranted, but it had somewhat dampened her curiosity about the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t have to be Earth forever, though, even if it turned out to be exactly as unpleasant a place as Jack said. She could go elsewhere, later on. She might go to West Soralia and – the thought came with a startling amount of viciousness – have a stellar, amazing time there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, not entirely. Jack could come if he wanted to. They’d have an amazing time </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queue had progressed enough for her to make out the archway it headed towards. Valeriana couldn’t help but be underwhelmed. It was unimpressive, and old and gloomy looking besides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gate officers stood on either side of it, handing out crystals similar to the ones in the Glass Tower gardens, only blue. Not all who passed by were handed one, and there was a spot of tension when a man demanded one and tried to start an argument upon seeing himself denied. Valeriana gingerly stepped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth had called this the walkway path; it was bound to be a different experience than what Jack had described from his own ventures off world. According to him, you got seated in a container resembling a wheelless carriage, which would glide forward at a glacial pace until you couldn’t see anything but black outside. You'd then spend ten minutes snacking on the complimentary nuts and candy until the lights went on again, exit, and go through the same process of checking in, but in reverse. He’d never mentioned queues crawling on like restless serpents or fights breaking out over shiny rocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was startled twice over when it dawned on her that it was her turn. First, because an egg sized azure polyhedron was thrust at her while she tripped forward. Second, because of the late realization that these were her last moments on Barashi for who knew how long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana scried the shadows hemmed in by the archway, closing her fingers around the blue crystal and squeezing it like a talisman, losing herself in staring and earning dirty looks and unfriendly mutters from those standing behind her. Once she realized she was holding up the line, she blushed to the roots of her hair and skipped forward, too embarrassed to stop and worry about what waited across the threshold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darkness was what she found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darkness, never ending, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everlasting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gone were the insipid clay tiles of the terminal. She stood in a space her eyes balked at regarding, her chest constricting and her hands sweating and something sour climbing up her throat, and she was – </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ralen </span>
  </em>
  <span>hadn’t made her as terrified as she felt standing here. It was not unlike her nightmares of drowning; cold, pure blackness cloven in twain by anonymous screams that might very well be coming from her own mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand emerged from the dark as though birthed by it, pushing her aside. Valeriana stumbled back, only just managing to hold on to the crystal. Words, garbled, indistinct and foreign, were spoken and fell on deaf ears; she couldn’t bring herself to make sense of them. The hand and the person attached to it had moved on, but something . . . something at her back, something under her feet, something that only the thinnest, flimsiest barrier prevented her from careening into, something . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>was still reaching for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get a move on, you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sacrima sacrima gaha sai?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fucking hit that damned brat if he won’t shut up on his own!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I get someone with a light over here?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mama mama MAMA!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Awful lot of first time crossers, looks like. . .”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sika, mushy, WHERE ARE YOU?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bony fingers closed around Valeriana’s wrist, nearly stopping her heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed, glad she’d been too stunned to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>L—lady Marabeth</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m the Cursed King returned from the ruins of Old Tsikala to slay the last god in creation. What are you doing lying on the ground?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The gate.” Valeriana swallowed thickly, spoke quickly, certain that mockery would follow and more than willing to stomach it because being derided would at least bring with it a semblance of normality. “It’s so . . . it’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I didn’t know it would feel like this much. I think it wants — I think it’s trying to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no warning, no telltale displacement of air; just the smack, flat and stiff, across her jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop making a spectacle of yourself and hand me the beacon.” Before Valeriana could respond or react, the blue crystal was taken away and held up for inspection. Between Lady Marabeth’s pinched fingers the light, which up to that point hadn’t done a commendable job of illuminating anything, grew stronger. Valeriana belatedly recalled that the woman was a magic user. “They always, always forget to charge these to capacity, it’s absurd how they get away with it while charging what they do. Here, hold it up like this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t seem to matter anymore that they weren’t meant to be seen together, likely because the other travelers wouldn’t be able to tell who they were unless they stood nose to nose. Valeriana forced herself to move, rise, obey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness tried to wrap around her like inky fog, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the light cupped in her hand looked pale and wan even after Lady Marabeth’s boost because the dark was </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finish that thought only if you’d like me to slap you a second time,” Lady Marabeth warned, pulling her along and keeping to what one could presume to be the borders of the gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s mouth felt dry, her limbs floppy and inadequate as she forced herself to keep pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It still feels wrong,” she murmured, not sure if she wanted the woman to hear. “The gate. There’s something not right with it. It’s like . . . it’s like it’s trying to pull at me, make me want to go – follow, but I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the gate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It . . . what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the gate,” Lady Marabeth repeated in a tone suggesting that she found her quite dim. “The gate is an ingenious work of magic, as it remains functional even though whoever wove it has been dead for eons. Don’t ask me how, it defies everything we think we know about spellcraft. However, the gate is not what’s bothering you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then what—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Picture it as an underwater tunnel. The steel and the glass that make up its structure aren’t living things. They can’t pull, they can’t call. The ocean that engulfs them, however . . . that which your sight renders as an absence of color, because to let yourself perceive it truly would render you mad? </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>lives. That is, in fact, if you heed certain theories, where we all start from and to which we all return when the fever dreams that are our lives run their course. Now . . . can you guess its name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was half afraid of saying it aloud, but Lady Marabeth frightened her more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the Great Dark, isn’t it? We’re standing—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allegedly. No one knows for certain.” Lady Marabeth gave a one-armed shrug. “What lies beyond the boundaries of world gates feels like one would imagine Darkness Everlasting to feel like, but the evidence to support that assumption is scarce. You can’t hear the gods speak through the barrier. You can’t spy the true forms of your beloved deceased swimming in the black, and none have been foolish enough to tear through the limits of a gate since Old Tsikala’s vanishing. We may never learn the truth, and I daresay it is best if we — </span>
  <em>
    <span>hm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I see you nodding, but this is all flying right over your head, isn’t it, girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit,” Valeriana admitted. Lady Marabeth raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “It’s just that according to Elder Eshmuger’s sermons, the Fall happened because one man had too much hubris and tried to become like the gods. I’d never heard that the gates had anything to do with it, or that they were paths through . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Allegedly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am not entirely convinced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes.” Yet the more Valeriana considered, the more it appeared – not right, but cohesive with the way she felt standing there. The . . . ocean, it might not help conceptualize anything much but it was at least more relatable to think of the darkness as that, felt like so many things, some of which she couldn’t name for the life of her, some of which sprung to her lips with frightening ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold. Old, ancient, primeval. Something that had existed long before her and would outlast her along with every other living thing. Discord, a howled note that didn’t fit in with the song of the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And familiar, above all. Familiar like a place she’d once known and inhabited, somewhere where cardinal aspects of her had been fashioned, somewhere she’d forgotten and both yearned and feared to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shuddered, unable to fathom how everyone else took it in their stride; even the children, who had ceased screaming some time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People, they just, we just . . . it </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a path through Darkness Everlasting, and we’re crossing it like it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Costs an arm and a leg, too, even before you factor in fake documentation.” Lady Marabeth’s voice was for once devoid of the suggestion that she was wasting her breath on an audience of one colossal idiot. “Most people are used to the feeling. Your atypical reaction is justified by, well. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>other way</span>
  </em>
  <span> in which you are atypical.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I – what? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shifting entails reaching for and manifesting aspects of our immortal, true forms. You grow accustomed to the environment surrounding them if you do it often enough. Since you cannot do it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can shift my nails, and my teeth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are features of your corporeal shell that exist purely in the physical realm and are retractable, nothing to do with your true form. Did your tutors never teach you the difference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmpf</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Imagine that.” With a final, superior sniff, Lady Marabeth pushed her onwards, having once again reached the threshold of her willingness to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the absence of anything else to distract her from the push and pull of darkness, Valeriana rubbed the crystal and focused on the exchanges happening within earshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little of it was intelligible. The dark might feast on sound as it did on light and sight. What she could make out jarred her anew for its banality. A male voice grumbled about forgetting their coat. Someone else, very close by, asking if anyone was willing to lend them a beacon so that they could check the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Lady Marabeth had her face swaddled in blackness, Valeriana could sense the woman’s affront when she turned and held up the crystal at the person behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty minutes to arrival,” they — their voice was so gravelly that Valeriana couldn’t guess the gender — told her. She tried not to feel too disheartened as she took the blue rock back. Twenty minutes was more exposure to the unsettling dark than she thought she could stomach. “First time crossing, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took her a second to grasp that they were still addressing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth?” A hoarse laugh followed, which Valeriana admitted was deserved, as everyone there was headed to the same world and they’d probably assumed she’d joked. “I don’t know exactly where I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was forced to cut the exchange short and excuse herself when a clawed hand jerked her backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t start gabbing at people, you witless child!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They talked to me first, I was just being polite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where, may I ask, did ‘being polite’ ever get you in life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t have an answer for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a tense twenty minutes until the woman deemed it time to release her wrist. She’d been gripping it so brutally that Valeriana still felt a soreness there after they crossed the mark where the darkness cut off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana stumbled into the light, eyes watering as though they’d forgotten what they were supposed to do with brightness. A metallic voice sounded overhead. She couldn’t parse what was said. She couldn’t get her feet unstuck from the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth appeared to have left her side now that the lights were back on. She had to somehow stop herself from collapsing and find out where the woman had gone—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of gold and blue. Hands. Instructions — </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes closed, sit here, drink this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The water was so cold that drinking more than what would fit in a thimble made her throat spasm and her teeth ache. Closing her eyes did help. The mundane blackness behind her eyelids was infinitely less painful than the glare of the lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her documentation was taken from her, examined, returned. Valeriana mumbled apologies, remembered too late that she hadn’t faked an accent to match her supposed provenance, only started breathing again once it became clear that no one noticed or cared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, little by little, she could crack an eye open without wincing. One of the gate officers gestured at her to follow him, which she did, unthinkingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man — there were too many shadows in her eyes still for Valeriana to make out much beyond the gold and blue uniform and a massive handlebar mustache — guided her around obstacles that she was likewise blind to and took her through a door, a hallway, another hallway, through another door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he took her out into the worst weather Valeriana had experienced in all her years alive, bade her farewell and went back inside, leaving her parked amidst the largest assortment of automobiles she’d ever seen, with feathery ice pooling on her shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shivered, both at the cold and the voice that greeted her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Earth,” Lady Marabeth said from a step to the left, tossing a woolly bundle and not seeming to care when it hit Valeriana in the face and bounced onto the pavement. “Put this on before you freeze your fingers off. We’re taking the scenic route back to the Mayfly.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana missed out on most of the trip on account of having fallen asleep one hour in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She woke with no notion of how much time had slipped her by, bleary eyed and with a twitchiness to her spine that suggested that she’d stayed too long in too strained a stance, to the point where her back needed healing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. Lady Marabeth made no comment. With luck, the woman hadn’t noticed, as she was busy sneering orders at the hooded figures outside. Ki-laar, the marginally less sleepy part of Valeriana’s brain supplied, on noticing an unnaturally white face under one of the black hoods. The driver was also a Ki-laar, but it wore a wig and sunglasses, and some sort of face paint to give it a semblance of being alive. It might rank among the most jarring things she’d seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d arrived, that much was apparent. It must have been the knell of the trunks getting dropped on the sidewalk that had dragged her from her slumber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth, having concluded her verbal evisceration of her servants, ushered Valeriana out of the vehicle and inside the nearest building. Valeriana considered asking where they were, but reasoned that she wouldn’t do anything with the answer anyhow. The only earthen location she recognized by name was France, Europe, because Jack’s grandparents lived there, and she doubted she was there since she couldn’t see any mountains nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to keep the coat on, this town neighbors a desert,” Lady Marabeth said, still hurrying as though there was a race going on or an important event they were running late for. Valeriana nodded, privately thinking that the woman must be insane. She wrapped the too thin fabric tighter around her. “Would you like a tour? The quicker you get to know the place, the sooner I’ll stop being bothered because you got yourself lost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course, I’d love to.” Valeriana felt bad for lying, as she was certain that the woman could tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had never been in a slave training facility, or even at a slave market, although her island allegedly had one of the best. It might be an interesting experience, but at the moment she was much too exhausted and overwhelmed to appreciate it. She would honestly have preferred to go to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she followed dutifully as Lady Marabeth led her to an elevator, motioned her inside and plunged them what felt like twenty leagues underground in the span of a second. It was lucky that she hadn’t eaten in the last however many hours, or she’d have lost every last bite over the gleaming floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A white walled, black tiled maze of corridors greeted them as the doors slid aside. Ki-laar scuttled about like alabaster ants. Lady Marabeth took a corridor seemingly at random, leaving Valeriana with no choice but to scurry after her. The woman appeared to hold no stock with the concept of slowing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Triage room,” Lady Marabeth announced, sending tall double doors flying open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first word that jumped to mind to describe the chamber that lay beyond them was </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Gangways and stairs formed spiraled paths along the walls. Those were taken up by rectangular cells just wide enough to accommodate a standing adult. Some were empty, some not, and the bodies that Valeriana could make out were nude, so she looked away quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had an inkling that Lady Marabeth expected her to comment, maybe compliment the place. Eyes on the spotless floor, she said the first thing that came to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s very clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Lady Marabeth tilted her head to study her, actually study her, as if she were an embalmed animal displayed inside a glass cabinet, filled Valeriana with apprehension. It was a relief when the woman turned her head, letting her piercing gaze slide off her and onto the happenings on the lowest level of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the first stop for a batch of newly acquired human subjects. Here they are sorted, cleaned and tagged before they’re moved to the lower levels for training. We make sure that none leave this facility before they mind the basics of their new station. Some of my competitors sell what they call ‘raw material’. Mayfly Enterprises holds itself to higher standards than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I follow, but that . . . sounds commendable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means that we don’t sell untrained, unruly humans to cretins who think that they’re getting a bargain by skimping on the conditioning fee and buying their slaves wild so that they can break them in at home. That’s the sort of idiocy that leads to people getting their heads axed off in their sleep.” A pause. “I’ll take this to mean that Jack never discussed the particulars of the business with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was fairly sure that Jack didn’t care enough about the business, or in fact anything that vaguely resembled the concept of working, to know more than the broadest strokes. Since she couldn’t say that and risk placing him even higher on his aunt’s blacklist, she turned out the deepest drawers of her memory for something that could exonerate him from failing to educate her to Lady Marabeth’s standards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was this one time he mentioned the market in Lenosh, but my sister Tess overheard and told him she’d string him up in our peach tree if he filled my head with licentious content.” It had been enough years ago that admitting it was unlikely to get Tessalia in trouble. Normally, Valeriana would believe her sister capable of handling herself no matter what, but Lady Marabeth filled a category all her own. “I do know that you deal mostly in humans and Cyniheans?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Exclusively</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the woman corrected, no longer regarding her as though she were an exotic animal worthy of scrutiny, but like she was a sick cat who had just barfed on her carpet. “Well, I suppose there are benefits to you knowing absolutely nothing. Fewer misconceptions to clear up. Come along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana did. She’d thought that they’d go down to where a veritable army of Ki-laar ambled back and forth among tables laden with bodies, taking measurements and writing notes on clipboards. Instead, they went back outside and entered another corridor. This one funneled into a lounge, furnished with round, pewter gray sofas, a coffee table and a desk. The Ki-laar sitting behind the latter looked up, gasped and bowed its head. Lady Marabeth regarded it coolly, the deference not having come quickly enough to please her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the subject ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, mistress!” The Ki-laar’s voice was as the chirping of panicked birds. It wore the same crisp, white-and-black uniform as the others Valeriana had seen indoors, but its bald head was topped by a red bow which might or might not have been glued on. “Cleaned up and prepared, as per your command!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Training room six, mistress!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start with the basics and move our way up,” Lady Marabeth intoned, as the Ki-laar maneuvered a set of controls with snakelike reflexes. The door swung open into yet another corridor, filled with many more doors. Lady Marabeth canted her head at her, and suddenly, incongruously, Valeriana wanted to do nothing but bolt; a by now familiar sensation. “Cyniheans. What trait do you most readily associate with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have gray skin?” she chanced, knowing just from seeing Lady Marabeth’s immutable expression that the answer didn’t pass muster. She hadn’t counted on a quiz. “And they’re . . . they are very strong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Correct.” The concession was reluctant, but there. “Their physical strength compares to, and sometimes exceeds, that of Tsikalayans. They are most sought after for manual labor, and we usually give them technical skills training on top of the basic conditioning. Conversely, if you need slaves for the execution of delicate and specialized tasks, you go with Drakoe, since they are . . .” the woman trailed off, ostensibly so that she might complete the statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana thought. She . . . actually knew the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re really smart and detail oriented.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” They’d arrived at a door marked with a big, bold number six. Lady Marabeth unlocked it. “And as for humans? What can you tell me about the value </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Humans</span>
  </em>
  <span> . . . Valeriana bit her lip, stalling, thinking fast and hard and finding herself struggling to come up with anything. Humans were outwardly so morphologically similar to her kind that nothing about their appearance was noteworthy. They weren’t homogeneously gifted at anything she knew of, nor did they possess rare or valuable properties. Some could use magic, but she was under the impression that those were put down if discovered. There was no single unifying thread for her to hold up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it had been a trick question, and that was the answer: the defining trait of humans was a lack of defining traits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no consistency in the skills exhibited across the species,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “So they’re, well, they’d be valuable to the sort of people who like to be surprised by what they get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth appeared ever so slightly taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s . . . a perspective, but far off the mark. Humans look enough like us to prompt lust. Therein lies their value. If you are in want of a body to warm your bed, your first choice won’t be an overgrown lizard or a behemoth liable to crush your hips by accident. You’ll want something as similar as possible to the handsome boy who won’t look at you twice, or the prissy porcelain dolls who keep laughing off your advances. With me so far?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Lady Marabeth gave her a chilly, tightlipped smile. “That will make this ever so much easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room they entered was lit so brightly that Valeriana felt herself thrown back to when she’d exited the gate. She wouldn’t have thought much of the ambiance whatever the luminosity, however. Her eyes jumped from the steel shelves decking the walls to the mean-looking implements they displayed, and from those to the chains hanging from the ceiling like ghoulish wind chimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glossy metal table, the centerpiece of the room, was the only furniture. There was a body tied to it. Nude, so Valeriana made sure that her eyes roamed elsewhere, pretending to take her time taking in every aspect of her surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth waited, but not indefinitely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit like . . .” She sought a comparison and found one ready-made, lingering on the less pleasant shores of her earlier years. “Do you know Linus Odero, the physician? His clinic looks like this. Or at least it did years ago, when I still went to him regularly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know him. He sold me the table,” Lady Marabeth said, shortly. She did not question the aberration of having to visit a physician regularly; most people, Valeriana knew, went once in a century unless they had an occupation that often saw them needing to regrow limbs. Jack must have told his aunt at some point. She didn’t fault him for it, but privately wished he hadn’t. “Or, well, the table that this one is modeled from. But I was referring to the subject. What’s your impression of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Valeriana’s feet moved with little input from her brain until she was standing in front of the prisoner. The human was female and looked unwell, not to mention underfed. Ribs seemed to want to rip through thin skin, breaths came out in short, weak gasps. She shot Lady Marabeth a questioning look and paled at the way the woman stared back. It wasn’t threatening as much as calculating. Like a precocious child with a jar of butterflies, pondering how to align the magnifying glass. Getting words out while targeted by it was a grueling task. “Is she ill? She looks as thin as the Ki-laar, I don’t think humans are meant to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Lady Marabeth corrected. It took all of Valeriana’s strength to stop from yelping when the woman’s nails dug in her shoulder. “It’s a subject, not a person. This one . . . by looks alone, you could be sisters. However, that a thing looks like you does not mean that it is like you. Are we clear on that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . suppose so?” Although Valeriana only now registered it, the woman was right about the similarities. They were there, and they were striking. It was like staring in a mirror that was ever so slightly off. Black, wavy hair, dark blue eyes shadowed by sweeping lashes, the same luminescent pale complexion that suggested that sunlight had tried to touch her but given up in a fit of pique, a similarly hawkish nose at odds with a face otherwise soft and rounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The human looked little like her existing sisters. She looked more like she could have been Valeriana’s own twin. Was this . . . was all of it supposed to lead somewhere?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Association fallacy,” Lady Marabeth pronounced, jerking her from her disturbed thoughts. “All that’s gold glitters, but not all that glitters is gold. All Tsikalayans look more or less like what you see, but not all that looks like what you see is Tsikalayan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not much room to be confused, though, is there? What with blood songs, and you could always ask someone to shift, so it would be hard to mistake a human for . . .” Valeriana trailed off, certain that she’d gone and done it when Lady Marabeth raised a hand to her forehead and pinched the skin between her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never mind, I see that you are too literally minded to be permeable to philosophy. Just watch and try to learn something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman took a step forward, bent over the table and fiddled with the rubber and leather contraption that kept the human from speaking. Valeriana seized the opportunity to retreat as far back as space constraints allowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something to keep in mind when you do this by yourself: virtually all subjects scream and beg at first, and a gag will spare you a lot of annoyance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What do you mean, though, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing by myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any job skills?” By now the unfastened leather contraption had slipped from its place, and realizing it, the captive started on a string of tearful pleas in a language that Valeriana couldn’t make out a word of. Lady Marabeth smiled thinly, forced the girl’s mouth open and shoved the gag back in place. The wails died down, although the crying and sobbing continued. “Do you possess a wide breadth of knowledge about a useful and important subject? Are you secretly amazingly talented at anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had to shake herself before she could shake her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect otherwise. I do, however, expect you to pull your weight in this facility. You have nowhere to go and my nephew will whine my ear off if I toss you out on the street, but I dislike freeloaders. It’s been thousands of years since I took on an apprentice, and I’m afraid that my teaching ability may have rusted, but we’ll make do. I mean, what else were you planning to do with your life? Spend it collecting some idiot’s seed and spewing out crotch fruit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well . </span>
  <em>
    <span>. . yes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s what I was supposed to do, before I . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>before I</span>
  </em>
  <span> . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth regarded her, both contemplative and dripping contempt, before drawling:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should know, before we continue, that I don’t think highly of you.” Valeriana had suspected as much, but it remained staggering to hear it said aloud. “You never struck me as intelligent, interesting or mighty. That you scraped together the bare minimum amount of self-respect and refused to be used as a cock sleeve does not budge that impression significantly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevertheless, it makes me hope that if I work you right, you’ll turn out less pathetic than most girls in your age bracket. It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>millennia</span>
  </em>
  <span> since I met a female under two hundred who didn’t have a head full of dung and a single-minded focus on keeping their legs closed so that they might demurely spread them for their future mate. Back when </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was young, we . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next minutes demanded little from Valeriana other than that she murmur agreeably while Lady Marabeth disgorged vitriol against failing educational standards, every ruling the High Council had passed in the last two thousand years, tailored mating rites and the animalcules who used them, the unforgivable stupidity of men, women who mated young and people under one hundred and fifty years of age, Jack’s expulsion from Charuin, which the ungrateful louse </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t take seriously—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the most relaxing wrathful rant that Valeriana had ever been made to sit through, since she was just tangentially relevant to it and suspected that the woman had forgotten about her being present within the first thirty seconds of raging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It went on. And on, and on, and by the end there was an involuntary strain to Lady Marabeth’s mouth that suggested that she might have continued in the same vein for another hour if she didn’t have anything more pressing to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I seem to have gotten carried away. Be a darling and pass me that box over there, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana went to retrieve it. The box didn’t seem so frightening as the items scattered around it, but only until the woman’s hand delved inside and retrieved a shaft almost as wide as her forearm, which she laid on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chained girl let out a muffled wail. Valeriana also made a noise, just as indistinctly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got this one from Germany,” Lady Marabeth was telling her, ostensibly referring to the human rather than the humongous phallic object. “The war has been less beneficial to the trade than I’d hoped, since the faction I expected to do business with turned out to comprise half-witted lunatics who’d rather gas and burn their prisoners than profit from their sale — that’s humans for you, illogical even when they think in the right direction. Still, I found some officers willing to shunt off a portion of the merchandise, in exchange for what they’re not aware is a minuscule cut of the profit. That’s how our weepy little guest came to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave the sobbing wreck a pat on the head, walked around the table and fastened the girl’s feet to an iron bar, forcing her legs open in the lewdest way possible. Valeriana glimpsed reddened nether lips that looked like they had been scraped with sandpaper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gulped, sick to her stomach, as the girl blinked away tears and shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to call her </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>in her head, and would need to be careful that she didn’t slip on pronouns aloud, as Lady Marabeth would be sure to take exception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we</span>
  <em>
    <span>, uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, do we need to do this right now? It’s just that I’m tired from the journey . . .” It was no lie. It mystified her how the woman, who as far as Valeriana knew hadn’t let her eyes shut underway, had the stamina to be doing all this and still look as sharp as a freshly whetted knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unclear whether Lady Marabeth hadn’t heard her, or heard her and elected to ignore her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This one has already been used, so I won’t go with a gentle approach. If its masters decide they want it coddled and pampered after they buy it, that’s their business. I’m of the opinion that it just spoils them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picked up the shaft. It was made of some hard looking synthetic material and the same lilywhite as the walls. Valeriana screwed her eyes shut, unable to shake the thought that the color might serve the purpose of making the blood show up more vividly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why in darkness are your eyes not open?” Lady Marabeth demanded, forcing her to peek from under her eyelids with no small degree of reluctance. The woman stood with one hand on her hip and a frown splicing her brow. Valeriana worked hard on ignoring where her other hand had gone. Her stomach felt empty, hollowed out like a balloon, and if she opened her mouth, a river of bile might erupt from it. She just . . . she just wanted to be elsewhere. Probably the slave-to-be felt much the same. “Haven’t you ever laid eyes on female privates? You have them yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I – </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> – I mean . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods above, deliver me from youngsters and their prudery before I pop a vein.” Lady Marabeth sighed in a dramatic fashion, giving her the eyebrow equivalent to a finger wagging, before turning to slam the alabaster shaft between the girl’s legs with no preparation or preamble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scream that ensued was like nothing Valeriana had heard before, even with most of the sound remaining trapped behind the gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door saved her from needing to explain why she stood transfixed and horror struck. Lady Marabeth scowled, moved away to provide her with an unhindered view of the huge object, and hissed at the door in what might have been a foreign language but could just as easily have been wordless rage at the interruption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Ki-laar braved inside, eyes downcast in a textbook example of submissive foreboding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mistress, I beg your pardon!” it chirped. “There is a woman upstairs who demands to speak with you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is she, how did she get in and what business does she have here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She . . . she didn’t say, mistress!” Valeriana couldn’t help but pity the creature as it quailed under Lady Marabeth’s stolid, impenetrable gaze. She vaguely wished that the woman would go back to having the facial animation of a wax model. “She said . . . I beg your pardon again, mistress, but she said, and I’m quoting her exact words, that I should get that malevolent old tart — by which I think she meant you, mistress, I can’t apologize enough! — to drag her scrawny arse to where she is, because she needs to have a word with you! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mistress</span>
  </em>
  <span>!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth’s expression went vacant, forcing Valeriana to revise her earlier consideration: having the woman display emotions, no matter how sinister, was less unsettling than the current lack of any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” At least she didn’t speak with hair-raising blankness, sounding a blend of fastidious, forbearing and put upon. “That would be my sister. Give her some tea — the cheap brand, mind you — and tell her that I’ll come up in a minute. Absolutely don’t let her out of your sight until I’m there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ki-laar retreated, beaming, seeming both grateful and thunderstruck for having delivered its message and getting away unscathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door closed, Lady Marabeth turned to Valeriana, lips pursed and eyes still distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I need to go entertain family. I’d invite you to come along, but although I don’t care for you, I also don’t dislike you enough to make you put up with Briseis when you just — </span>
  <em>
    <span>darkness and damnation</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I forgot to tell it to hide the silver! Stay here, we shall continue this later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the most scattered and out of sorts Lady Marabeth had appeared so far. Needless to say, it was chilling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are afraid that your sister will try to steal from you?” Valeriana articulated, baffled by the bizarre turn in both mood and events. For a second she feared that Lady Marabeth might be offended, but the woman only sniffed, already making for the door with seemingly not a thought to spare for either her or the captive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I’m afraid that she’ll sneak something she’ll use to stab me.” At Valeriana’s look, which blended both terror and morbid fascination in abundance, she rolled her eyes ceilingward in a way eerily reminiscent of Belladonna. “I thought you had siblings? Murder attempts are just the way of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But . . .” Valeriana was certain that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>how it worked. She and her sisters all but defined disfunction, and still they’d gone their entire lives with only threats of murder. “Killing a family member is a blood cr—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tempt me to drag you upstairs so that you can watch her face as you tell her that. Stay here, have a look at the tools, entertain yourself until I’m back. This normally doesn’t take long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And . . . the human? What should I do with h . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth stopped mid-stroll, already halfway out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do as you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that she was gone, her steel heeled shoes clacking down the hall like a maddened typewriter until she was outside hearing range. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A weight that Valeriana had been bludgeoned into failing to acknowledge slipped off her back with the woman’s departure. In the leftover silence, without a harrowing presence standing ready to dissect her every action, she could finally breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no sound coming from the captive. She’d given up on begging, but her limbs shivered against her frame, all of her appearing gruesomely strained. The pretense that she was alone, that the girl on the table was as much a part of the decoration as the shelved chains and blades and other wretchedness that Valeriana balked at contemplating, refused to hold the second her eyes darted towards her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana swallowed. She couldn’t fathom what to do with what she felt, if it even had a use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least there was no blood. Yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered if the girl had a name. Her father’s personal slaves, of which a half dozen were human, were named after rocks. She’d memorized their names despite having only residual contact with them and not being certain of which belonged to what face. She’d thought they were funny. Xenotime. Epsonite. Hypersthene. She didn’t know if those were typical Earthen names, or botched translations of something less silly sounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl made a breathy, agonizing noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard. Failing that, pretend she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her feet rioted. They carried her to the table before she could decide to stop them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She . . . she’d just check if there was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrong, if the captive wasn’t hurt badly enough to die in the next minute, because those eyes . . . they looked drowned. Wet and dead, although they sparked with urgency when Valeriana shuffled closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The red sphere gagging the girl was no longer in her mouth but pushed to the side, digging a hollow in her cheek. Either Lady Marabeth had done a poor job of replacing it, or she’d moved it out in the time Valeriana had spent trying to pretend she didn’t exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Valeriana said. She didn’t expect a reply. Doubtlessly the captive didn’t speak Barashnik. Most humans didn’t. She’d half expected the cry that came next, pitched high but weak, like the one a kitten would make. What she’d very much expected but hoped against was the cutting, otherworldly wail that sounded once the girl assembled enough strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana waved her hands, trying to calm her, both for her own peace of mind and because she felt genuinely sorry. She’d never seen the slaves back home act like this. They were always smiling and laughing, especially when her father was around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shhh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You need to stop that!” Valeriana took a step back, reeling from a wave of nausea that came over her at the sight of the shaft still firmly lodged between the girl’s legs. It looked huge and painful. Humans, she remembered, healed slowly. “Lady Marabeth . . . if she returns and finds you making noise, she’ll . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know what the woman would do, only that it would be unpleasant to both watch and be on the receiving end of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captive’s screaming subsided, turning into sobbing and then coughing and, at last, silence. Then – she’d just been giving her lungs a break, it looked like – she coughed and spoke so fast that Valeriana started out not understanding a word. Once the rapidfire speech slowed she could parse it, she made out every tenth word, those that were recognizable from the cant that Lenoshi slaves of earthen origin used to communicate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It let her understand enough – that the girl was pleading with her to be let go. Gods help her, she didn’t want, hadn’t asked, strongly disliked, this position she found herself in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do anything. I’m sorry, but</span>
  <em>
    <span>, but,</span>
  </em>
  <span> this is only training. When it’s over, you’ll get to live somewhere a lot more wonderful than Earth, and you will have food and a place to sleep, and you’re human, so you won’t have to do a lot of manual labor . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl babbled over her. Her voice sounded rougher and there were no familiar idioms this time, leading Valeriana to assume she’d switched languages. Why did humans have so many? It just made everything more complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll get a nice owner.” She was sure of no such thing and by now convinced that the captive was responding to her nonthreatening tone and stance rather than the content of her words. She still said it, because she’d like the reassurance herself. “If you work hard and make them like you, you won’t get punished, and there’s bound to be others of your species around, so you won’t miss home for long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, help me, please!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d understood that, all of it almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I — you listen — French?” Her knowledge of the language, dragged up from a time long ago when Jack had taught her the basics to communicate with his grandparents, in case they ever convinced their guardians to let her accompany him on his yearly visit, was rusty and rudimentary. Even so, and despite her no doubt atrocious accent, the girl nodded. Right. They understood one another, somewhat. What to tell her? “I — apology — no can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, I have a family, my parents, my sister, I can’t be here, I need to find them, it’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” The girl shook her head, nearly choking on her own sobs. “It’s been weeks and I don’t know where they’ve taken them, if they are even still alive—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I — can ask,” Valeriana managed, glad that she might be able to do that much. Lady Marabeth would know, wouldn’t she? Although asking her for information like that was begging for a lecture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sought for something else to offer, something to make her feel less guilty for having to refuse the primary request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water? Coat?” She pointed at the one she wore in case she hadn’t used the right word. She’d need to take it back if she heard anyone come in, but the girl would be less cold for a while. The table felt like a slab of ice. So much on Earth did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More head shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Rachel. I grew up in East Belgium, but my family is originally from Cork. My sister’s name is Becca, she’s fourteen. Our parents are Colman and Yael Redmont. My father wrote a book—” A sob, hastily swallowed so that it turned into a hiccup. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>He shouldn’t have written that book</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My favorite color is green. My favorite flowers are poppies. I can sing Little Bo Peep in Spanish. I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I am Valeriana Lazur. I am from Lenosh, Central Isles. I have three sister and my father. My favorite color is blue ribbon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” The girl sounded tired now, more than anything. “If you won’t let me go, at least please</span>
  <em>
    <span>, please take it out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a second for Valeriana to grasp her meaning. It shouldn’t have taken that long. She shot the shaft, lodged so deeply it appeared to distort the shape of the girl’s lower body, a wary glance, feeling nausea welling up. She could understand the captive’s desire for it to be removed, but hesitated to grant the request. Would Lady Marabeth be displeased if she returned to find out that it had been removed?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, the woman had told her to do with the girl as she liked, hadn’t she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Valeriana instructed, and looked around, scanning the shelves for something to wrap around her hands. One of them turned out to hold objects not meant for violating or bleeding someone out. There was a basket full of cotton and a box with cloth napkins. She filled her arms with a cloud of the former and a stack of the latter and returned to the table. “I take out </span>
  <em>
    <span>— pain</span>
  </em>
  <span> — apology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl nodded with something like resignation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana wrapped a napkin around her hand, hoped she looked like she knew what she was doing, and clumsily gripped the part of the shaft that hadn’t sunk in all the way between her thumb and index finger. She’d counted on a scream, had wondered if she shouldn’t replace the gag first, but there was only a shallow gasp from the girl as the thing slid out of her, slick with slimy blood. Valeriana rushed to prop a wad of cotton against her opening, fearing that more would come gushing out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, there was just a trickle. She left the cotton there anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water?” she tried again. The girl shook her head. “Coat?” This time, a nod. Happy to continue being useful even if it meant she’d have to suffer through the cold herself — at least she had a dress on under the coat — Valeriana took it off and draped it over the captive, arranging it so that as much fabric as possible covered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need my hands free to put it on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana stared at her, nonplussed, since she hadn’t meant for her to wear it. She thought she understood why the girl would want to, though. The table was cold, so her back must be freezing too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth hadn’t left her keys, so unchaining the captive was likely to earn her the woman’s disapproval, but where was the harm? The links of the chain were wide and not seamless. She could pull them apart, then rejoin the ends if she heard Lady Marabeth’s shoes clacking near. If caught, there was always the argument that the woman had left in such a hurry, and given her no proper instructions, and she’d assumed it was alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana knew it was very unlikely to be alright, but it felt right, therefore . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slightly twisted the disjointed ends of the links and pulled the chains off the human. It was easier than she’d thought. After a pause, she did the same to the ones around the legs, so that the girl could ball up if she wanted. Smiling in what she hoped was an encouraging way, Valeriana presented the coat. “Take. It is good. Warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fist caught her in the jaw, landing so feeble and dull that she was left confused as to what it meant. The doubt dissipated when the girl struck again and made it clear that effort and intent to hurt went into the blows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana stood still, taking that one and the next — compared with the punches she’d gotten from Ralen, these were barely there – while trying to decide how to address this. It didn’t bother her to stand there and take the onslaught, but the girl appeared to be making herself tired and upset, and now she looked to be about to toss herself off the table—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana caught her before she could hit the floor and hurt herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Marabeth will — angry — </span>
  <em>
    <span>evil.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Do not — pain.” She cursed her limited vocabulary. Although she doubted that there existed words that could faithfully get across the world of hurt they’d both be in for if the woman caught her slave-in-training running around unrestrained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl laughed. Valeriana realized it belatedly, the first assumption being that she was choking. Tears dug tracks down her cheeks at an alarming rate, ghastly sounds of twisted mirth tore from her as she failed to break free from the arms holding her. Valeriana, who hadn’t been trying to trap her as much as prevent her from falling over, stopped at once so she would stop crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Predictably, the girl’s knees gave out. She slunk to the floor in a graceless heap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get it over with, then!” she demanded, her voice the audible equivalent of a fractured glass pane. “Just kill me! You’ll do it anyway, and I’d rather have it happen sooner if it means you sick fascist monsters stop . . .” There her screaming devolved into incoherent, horrible gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was familiar with this kind of reaction, although she’d never witnessed it from the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to die. Not really.” She spoke in Barashnik, since she spoke without thinking, but it would still have fallen on deaf ears if she’d cobbled the meaning back together in broken French.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, what she said and repeated, and kept repeating until a single instance of the word got through to the human, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She would have held her, as her sisters would do with her when she got like this, but something told her that touch — any touch — would be unwelcome. So she just sat beside her and kept repeating the request until the girl stopped looking and sounding like she did in her worst moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world was turning too fast. Valeriana ran a hand over her forehead, where cold sweat had broken out. She had a problem. She had a problem, and for once, the problem </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>that she didn’t know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was that she knew perfectly well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ki-laar by the desk in the room with the gray sofas was conveniently absent. Nevertheless, Valeriana’s heart wanted to crawl out through her throat as she hurried the human along the many doored corridors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feared, more and more, that the whole inadvisable enterprise would flop miserably before they made it far. The girl trod with soft steps, a hand span behind her — all humans, Valeriana had observed, were remarkably light-footed. Her gait was odd, slow and careful, a reminder of the horrible thing removed from inside her and the slowness of human healing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It meant that they couldn’t walk too fast. They wouldn’t be able to either way, since it would make them look ten times as suspicious as they already did. Valeriana reminded herself of that at every turn, but it didn’t stop every instinct she had of demanding she hightail it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing the layout of the building, she would have had a better idea of how to get out. As it was, the only exit Valeriana was aware of was the elevator. She remembered how to get there from the triage room, more or less. Unfortunately, there’d been so many twists and turns in between there and where they stood that she wasn’t sure she remembered the way to the triage room itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, it would have been so much more sensible to wait until Lady Marabeth had concluded their tour of the facility, until the Mayfly had become known territory, until she had the slightest inkling of what she’d do in the unlikely, miraculous event that she succeeded at getting the human above ground and out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strenuous to the point of maddening that not only did someone else’s fate depend on her, but she could ruin everything by taking a wrong turn in the next hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl hadn’t said a word since Valeriana’s garbled promise to help. Perhaps she feared saying something that would make her change her mind. More concerning was the fact that she acted as though she </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted </span>
  </em>
  <span>her to not ruin everything. Almost as though she believed her to have a degree of competence and the faintest clue of what she was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t have it in her to admit aloud how wrong she was. This was all a terrible idea. She was out of her depth. She should have waited, planned more and better . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Ki-laar came slinking around the corner. In hindsight, it was more of a surprise that they hadn’t run into any sooner. Valeriana fought the urge to grab the human and run for it or, more likely, panic and stay rooted to the chessboard floor like the useless, gutless thing she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea struck. She held a two second long mental debate on the sense of it before concluding that there was no way to summon the information they needed out of thin air and few alternative avenues of obtaining it. Breathing in deeply and shooting the girl beside her a look that she hoped came across as reassuring, she called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm. Excuse me?” The Ki-laar looked up from the clipboard it carried, startled, before breaking into a smile. It was probably meant to be a standard polite, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes-I’m-listening smile</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the abundance of obsidian teeth made Valeriana gulp. She reminded herself that the creature was likely more intimidated by her than she by it, but it didn’t help. “Uh, Lady Marabeth said that I should take this slave back to the triage room as soon as I was done with her. Which I am. But I, this is my first time here and I’ve only been in that room once, so I’m afraid I forgot the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would milady like me to return it?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Just tell me the way, please? I . . . Lady Marabeth will start thinking me an idiot if she dreams I got lost, so I’d like to avoid that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature appeared to find her excuse plausible, and if it took notice of Valeriana’s uneasy grimace, it didn’t remark upon it as it rattled off directions. She thanked it and waited until it had skittered off to nod at the human and resume their too slow run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are those things?” the girl asked. It sounded like a question that she’d been sitting on for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They is . . .” Valeriana wound up shrugging. She didn’t actually know. Lady Marabeth was the only person she was aware of who owned Ki-laar. She wasn’t even sure what world they hailed from. “Not human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsikalayan. From Barashi.” Judging by the frown she got, both words were unfamiliar. “I explain . . . other time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you helping me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ask.” It was the simplest way to sum up her reasons, but nowhere near the best. Only the best Valeriana could offer when she hadn’t convincingly explained to herself why she was doing what she was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although the girl appeared dubious, she asked no further questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ki-laar’s directions panned out accurately. They were forced to moderate their pace even further once she had the door to the triage room within her sights, since it was a well-traversed area, but from there the trek to the elevator was as short and straightforward as she recalled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost there</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Valeriana whispered, tapping the button as she’d seen Lady Marabeth do upstairs. She had yet to contemplate what she’d do once they were there. Now that they stood in front of the metal doors, the enormity of what she was doing and all the implications it brought with it smothered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She owed Lady Marabeth a lot. Freedom, for a start. She felt both guilty and queasy when she thought of confronting her after all this, because they were close to succeeding when she’d been convinced that they wouldn’t make it one tenth of the way, and losing merchandise would surely make the woman have a fit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet despite her misgivings, going back was . . . not an option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pull of kinship from a loudening blood song snuck up on her as they slipped in, like a knife in the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shout came not a moment later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oi</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Hold that door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the human whimpered. She curled her fingers into her palms and punched the floor panel while Valeriana fought not to succumb to hysterics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t Lady Marabeth, at least. The song was familiarly unfamiliar and the footsteps trampling the floor as though it had committed a serious slight sounded nothing like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>clack clack</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They might make it out still. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>she convinced the girl to remain calm and act like a slave. If she convinced herself to remain calm and come up with something to explain away their presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pummeling of buttons had an effect, in that the doors rushed to meet faster, but the human’s efforts were waylaid when a tentacle snuck in the gap between them, jamming them open until the person responsible made it there and pulled them apart manually the rest of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana met the human’s watery eyes and flapped her hands, trying to convey — she wasn’t altogether certain what. There was barely enough time for both of them to compose themselves before a woman entered the elevator in a cardamom scented, shamrock green whirlwind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said to hold!” the newcomer barked, her gaze settling unrelenting and grim on the panic-struck girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana knew who she was, despite never having seen her or met her. The steely eyes and red hair made it easy to determine her identity, although the resemblances to Lady Marabeth stopped there. Whereas her sister had the build of a skeleton, tall and almost unnaturally slim, this woman was short, chunky and apple cheeked. She had her hair piled up on her head like a badly constructed, collapsing beehive instead of imprisoned in a bun, and her eyebrows weren’t inked on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overall, she struck Valeriana as someone who could easily come across as warm and cheerful if she didn’t currently look about to break something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” Valeriana managed. Her mouth had dried up, but she’d sounded steady, if croaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman gave her a weighted, testing look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ten o’clock in the morning, not that you can tell day from night down here.” The impulse to withdraw when she whipped out a hand was tantalizing, but Valeriana refrained and gripped it weakly, praying that her shaking wasn’t noticeable. “Briseis Drakma. That disgusting slag’s lousy, no good, fiendishly lawless sister. I don’t believe we’ve met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Valeriana. Lazur. A friend of your nephew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one, the tall, dark and brooding one who’s an arse, or the tall, dark and </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span> one who looks as though he’s permanently constipated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er. Jack. The blond one. Lord Adalbert’s youngest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that one still twelve or thereabouts?” The woman, Lady Briseis, shook her head, further disassembling the hive that topped it. Tessalia would have had a conniption if she were there. “Never mind, I’m hopeless for keeping track of these things. Brilliant to meet you, Valeriana. Your name sounds like something you can brew suspicious tea from, though probably a tastier one than the cat piss Maz thinks appropriate to offer her guests. Are you two headed up or down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Valeriana thought, quickly and furiously. Lady Briseis was likely on her way out, her visit having been as short as Lady Marabeth had foretold. They couldn’t leave the elevator alongside her without making themselves suspicious, but if they pretended to be headed to the lower levels, where the training rooms were supposed to be located, then they could lose her, hope no one else got in and segue once the elevator made it down and back up. “We’re going to the twentieth floor down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slow smile stretched the woman’s full-moon face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a coincidence,” she said, looking between Valeriana and the human girl with bright, shrewd eyes. “That’s also where I’m headed. We can keep each other company. Press that button, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But . . . we . . . I . . .” Valeriana clamped her mouth shut and moved to obey, reasoning that she’d seem shiftier if she dawdled. Blood rushed to her head, beating loud in her eardrums as she saw their chances, slim to begin with, shrivel up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl, who had only followed the exchange through the shifts in tone, made an agitated sound. Lady Briseis glanced her way. The look she gave her was unexpectedly benign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a name, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The human shuddered, although the tone had been kind. The woman repeated the question in that dialect of which Valeriana could make out one word in every ten, and this time the human replied, shakily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis nodded, said something back in the same gentle, careful cadence. It came to Valeriana that Tessalia had, in discussing Jack’s other aunt, referred to her as a human lover. She had assumed that the appellation referenced some past promiscuous scandal, but in hindsight, that made little sense. Everyone who owned sex slaves would fit the sobriquet if that were what it was about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small ray of hope, then. If Lady Briseis was fond of humans, she might be persuaded to intercede and convince her sister that the girl had been an unwilling and unwitting participant in all this. Lady Marabeth might then refrain from doling out whatever gruesome punishment was reserved for slaves who tried to escape, although that was admittedly a longshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other two remained embroiled in a conversation which Valeriana had no hope of finding the thread of. By some miracle, the girl’s stance eased as it progressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator jumped into motion – Valeriana didn’t see who had pushed the button, but her stomach was up in her neck, so they were headed above ground. Lady Briseis was grinning now. More astonishingly, the human had almost ceased shaking throughout the exchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For future reference,” Lady Briseis said, addressing Valeriana and switching back to Barashnik, “if you are in the middle of an escape attempt and trying to appear inconspicuous, you shouldn’t use ‘we’ to encompass yourself and whoever you are rescuing. Or have them remain standing when in the presence of others, unless you’re walking them somewhere. Or lead them around without a carrier or a leash. Moreover, and this applies in general and not only in situations like the present, you ought to appear more self-assured. You look paler than Rachel here, and she’s the one who’ll be pushing up daisies if Maz catches her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm,” Valeriana uttered, failing to find anything else she could say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis winked at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad we met! There we go, out, out!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was pushed through the elevator doors. The woman and the human came up behind her, Lady Briseis grabbing them both by their respective elbows and setting a punishing pace as she hurried them along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before, Valeriana had been too out of sorts to examine the surface portion of the Mayfly, keeping up with Lady Marabeth having been her sole concern. Now she swiveled her head around and looked every which way, soaking up as much sight and sound as she was able, every nerve in her body a live wire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see the door ahead, the stylized likeness of a winged insect embossed across it, ivory on ebony, so close yet so far away. Could smell the faintest trace of tobacco, which the part of her still capable of entertaining such concerns found odd. Lady Marabeth, she knew through Jack, didn’t abide smokers to the point that she’d threatened to disown him if she ever caught him with a cigar. Could hear hushed voices bleeding through the walls, words and sighs and moans that turned her ears pink, thankfully with no intrusive blood songs accompanying them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humans,” Lady Briseis clarified, noticing her bewilderment. “Maz uses a brothel as a front for her slave trade business, and some firm of some sort as a front for the brothel. And there’s the alarm going off! You girls better run along, I’ll hold them up for as long as I’m able.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold — who — </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Valeriana goggled at the tear-shaped red light now blinking above the doorframe. She could say, in no uncertain terms, that she’d never felt this useless in her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stick around outside,” Lady Briseis went on. “Run to the end of the street, turn left, take the second exit of the first roundabout you see and keep running until you see a place called Café Jubilee. Go in, ask for Gino. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” A frightening screech sounded from the elevator while Lady Briseis turned to the human, rattling off what was presumably a translation of all she’d just said. She straightened, looking grave as she waved off the pair of them. “Go, hurry, chop chop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Here.” Valeriana shrugged off her coat and held it out for the girl to put on. It would be cold outside even if she weren't naked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis’ expression might have turned approving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana grabbed the girl’s arm as soon as she’d dressed and sprinted for the door, ignoring the thousand voices in her head that demanded to know what she was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving, breaking off from Lady Marabeth and the Mayfly, was a course of action that hadn’t occurred to her, and should it have, she would have discarded it. Yet here she found herself yanking the door open, assimilating with dismay that it didn’t open to the street — how many doors had she passed through, coming in? She’d thought there’d just been one! — and tugging the human along, knowing that she’d let go of her once they were at kafai-jubuh-lai and not a fraction of an instant sooner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them going through another door she hadn’t expected to be there for Valeriana to remember that the girl was injured and not in otherwise commendable physical shape. Cringing at her thoughtlessness, she took the forced pause to pick a direction to discreetly assess how her companion fared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Human—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rachel.</span>
  </em>
  <span> My name is Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel. Apology. I — carry?” She held out her arms, hoping to get her meaning across, but the other was categorical in rebuffing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. I can walk. How large is this place?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana supplied a shrug and pleaded with the divine pantheon to make it so that she hadn’t taken a wrong turn and gotten them lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pregnant pause as they inspected the three black doors standing before them, a silence broken by a commotion exploding down the corridors they’d vacated. Valeriana flinched. Rachel, apparently less perturbed, reached for the silver knob on the middlemost door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two is my lucky number,” she said, by way of explanation. It took a heartbeat for the lopsided twist of the girl’s mouth to register as a smile. Valeriana returned one of her own, wobbly and no more cheerful. Another beat, the knob turning in Rachel’s hand. Then, barely audible: “I just realized I’d forgotten to say it — thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Valeriana could reply, all hell broke loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unheard of for a blood song to erupt at full volume without a note of warning, the same way people themselves couldn’t just pop into existence by another’s side without approaching them. However, in the short time it took for Valeriana to apply a cracking veneer of rational thought to the question of </span>
  <em>
    <span>how, how in the world</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the phenomenon explained itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strength of a blood song was tied to physical distance. Magic laughed at physical distance. Lady Marabeth was a magic user. She could, indeed, just pop up flatfoot, without a thank you or if you please.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman now stood blocking the door they’d come through, the door which Valeriana had thrown closed on their backs and which remained closed. The sharp, metallic smell of electrical sparks permeated that arm of the hallway network, both an artifact of the materialization spell and a herald of an oncoming storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Valeriana.” Lady Marabeth’s voice was as level as the surface of a lake, and as dark and unknowable as its depths. “I’d say I was disappointed, but my expectations weren’t high enough to make that possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t get her lips to move. Everything she’d — inadequately, incompletely — planned on saying evaporated from her tongue, because she’d vaulted past the point where apologies were acceptable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, she might be beyond the point where apologies were something she was willing to offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands and feet sprung to action where her mouth did not. She pushed Rachel behind her, turning so that the girl was between her back and the door they’d been about to open. Valeriana didn’t take her eyes off Lady Marabeth as she nudged her and forced a single word out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Run</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flare of vibrant scarlet, a swish of mahogany red breaking through fog that tasted like seawater on fire. Pain, dulled by the time it took her to account for it. Her body flying, landing wrong, pain </span>
  <em>
    <span>pain pain</span>
  </em>
  <span> sawing through her shoulder where it crashed against a corner table, her legs struggling to lift her almost on sheer reflex before a tentacle whipped her across the stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana doubled over, wheezing, her vision blurry and filled with spots. Elsewhere, someone screamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure it had been Rachel, as it was preceded by the slam of a door, wood shattering, steps that one could swear tried to shatter the tiles where they landed. She blinked, pawed at the wall for support as she righted herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was stared down by Lady Marabeth’s harsh, pitiless eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother getting up.” Valeriana gasped at the sudden, inescapable shock of another limb striking her in the ribs. Lady Marabeth watched her with as dispassionate a face as she’d ever worn. “I neglected to turn you over to the High Council. I paid for your passage into this world. I opened up my home to you, offered to help you make a place for yourself here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>was how you chose to repay me. I can’t say I’m pleased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis moved into view, fast as a shadow, and threw a sharp-looking implement at her sister’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth caught the blade between thumb and forefinger and studied it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two thousand years and you are still trying this? A waste of red silver, if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get away from the girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Lady Marabeth's mouth quirked up a fraction of a fraction of an inch. “I won’t kill her, if that’s your fear — and I swear it’s mystifying how you’re already attached, when you’ve known this mewling pile of mush for less than five minutes. Although that somehow was time enough for you to convert her to your nonsense. Really, it’s a shame you draw such a hard line with the trade. You’d be wonderful at training them, Briseis. You truly would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis’ answering smile was the most triumphant, defiant, scathing and venomous display of how wide a mouth could stretch before the jaw came off that Valeriana had borne witness to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but I didn’t need to convert her! She came around on her own bloody self, imagine that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was pride lathered over the pronouncement, golden and buttery warm. Valeriana felt at once bashful and skeptical, as it was something so foreign to be on the receiving end of, but above all she quaked in fear of how Lady Marabeth would take the news.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taller woman looked her over, face blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” she said. She stepped away. While Valeriana welcomed this development, Lady Briseis appeared perturbed, wary. The reason for that became clear when Rachel came sliding over the floor, hauled forward by invisible strings. Lady Marabeth hummed in a low tone, a flick of her wrist twisting the girl into kneeling. “If that’s how it is, I’d be remiss not to let the poor darling idiot realize the consequences of her choices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel sobbed soundlessly — something was stopping her from producing sound. Valeriana, understanding that they stood on the brink of something awful — Lady Marabeth’s smirk seemed to fill the entire world when the surrounding air started buzzing and changing color — struggled to rid herself of the limb restraining her. Lady Briseis—      </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Briseis shouted at her sister at the top of her lungs, a hodgepodge of words in countless languages, all insulting, none ringing loud enough to mask the horror of Rachel’s body contorting and going slack with a sound like so many twigs breaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marabeth rolled her eyes at their twinned outburst, prodded the motionless human with the tip of her shoe and, wearing a countenance that suggested she considered herself exceedingly magnanimous, recalled the tentacles holding the two of them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is on your head,” she stressed. Valeriana paid the woman little mind as she dove forward and made it to where Rachel lay, recognizing nothing but the fact that the body was still warm. Warmth must mean it wasn’t too late. She rubbed the girl’s cheeks, shoulders, neck, as if she could transfer life into her and cause her to stir. Lady Marabeth observed the proceedings with disdain. “Let this be a lesson, Valeriana. Without your interference, that creature would eventually have been happy to spend however many years it stayed pretty and fresh being an obedient little cocksucker. Instead, it’s roadkill. Think on that, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had no right!” The furious words didn’t come from Valeriana, but she felt them in her spine as though it was her they’d torn out of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t I? The human was my property, and this is my house. One, I’ll add, in which the two of you have outstayed your welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana missed Lady Briseis’ rebuttal, still trying to pat life in a dead girl’s skin and despairing because it wouldn’t take root. She’d lost the ability to delude herself into believing that the human was pretending to be asleep, biding her time, tricking her pulse into being quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was tangentially aware that she once again held the dubious honor of Lady Marabeth’s attention, that a weight had settled beside her, that stubby fingers reached for her own as it got through to her at last that this dead wouldn’t rise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something burned in the corners of her eyes. It took Valeriana too long to realize that it was tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Lady Briseis tried to, with utmost gentleness, peel her hands off the body, she let her. She did not, however, concede to be pulled away, remaining bowed over the prone form until Lady Marabeth, looking like she’d finally burnt her fuse, waved a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana was sent crashing into another anonymous piece of furniture. She didn’t make it back to the body before fire erupted, engulfing it like an oil spill and making quick work of hair and fabric and flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps this will oust that insufferable cigar reek at last,” Lady Marabeth quipped, manipulating the flames so they reached the same height as the wainscot paneling on the walls and smoke was incidental. She accorded Valeriana one glance before shaking her head and relegating her to the category of entities not worth acknowledging. Instead, she addressed her sister. “You have what you came for, namely, a fine mess. Now leave, don’t come back unless you are willing to act reasonable, and take the girl. The live one, I mean. You’ll get along like a riot, her stupidity complements your brand of absurdness quite well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blaze further darkening the floor whilst erasing all evidence of the human called Rachel was controlled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one surging like vengeance in Lady Briseis’s eyes was anything but.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t count on me returning her.” Lady Briseis reached out. Valeriana staggered to her feet, helped along and sustained by an arm that looked plump but turned out to be stocking steel. “I see potential in this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d ceased hearing it by the time they hit the street, but it would take a thousand years or more for the echo of Lady Marabeth’s answering laughter to fade from Valeriana’s memory.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Café Jubilee was, before anything else could be said, warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not so much by Barashi standards, but for the first time since arriving on Earth, Valeriana’s bones were thawing. She leaned over the mug wrapped in her hands, inhaling the fragrant, curling steam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around her the patrons chatted, waiters drifted among the tables and a jowly human in a yellow and brown checkered suit — Lady Briseis had introduced him as Gino, the owner — shouted orders in a voice like five thousand heads of cattle stampeding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was enough background noise to make it mildly less strange that only one blood song played in so stacked and busy a space. Plus, it covered for the fact that she’d spent the last few minutes in absolute silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to drink that,” Lady Briseis remarked, jerking her chin at the mug Valeriana had been using as a portable heat source. “It’s chocolate. You should enjoy it while you can. They’re making plans to ration it overseas, and America will too once it joins the war, which is bound to happen any day now. Should warm you right up besides. You shivered on the way here like you’d just stumbled out of the gate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Valeriana mumbled. She took a dutiful sip, although she felt like drinking as much as she felt like eating, which was not in the slightest. She’d been ignoring the tough bready slices which one waiter had pushed in front of her. The chocolate was good, though. They had put no pepper in it, and a lot of sugar. “It’s only been a day. Maybe less, I don’t know. I’ll . . . get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A day?” The inquiry was polite, despite the ‘tell me more’ going unvoiced. Valeriana nodded, worked a little more of the chocolate down her throat and studied the grain patterns on the wooden tabletop, wishing she knew where to start. In delaying, she breathed a laden silence into being. Lady Briseis would expect her to be the one who broke it. When that entirely failed to happen, the woman’s expression went, of all things, self-conscious. “I don’t mean to pry. Or rather, I do, but not if it’ll make you look like a dying kitten. Eat the biscotti, you’ll like them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana plucked one of the bread things from the plate. It was at once crumbly and tough, and it had some type of nuts in it. Even with all her good will, she could only work her way through half of one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, leaden clouds filled the sky, promising rain. Humans packed in clothes that didn’t look heavy enough for the weather traversed the streets in an unbroken tide, clouds of vapor fountaining from their mouths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barashi, perpetually immersed in crushing heat which Valeriana already missed, had no such thing as a cold season. She knew about winter, but from books. It had its merits, according to what she’d read. Children supposedly enjoyed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered whether Rachel—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t let her thoughts go there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drank the rest of her hot chocolate, though it meant she was left with nothing to warm her hands on. She watched the humans around her, making a game of guessing what they conversed about from their body language and the snatches of speech she could parse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized, as she observed a family of four meander towards an empty booth near the counter, that save for the vacant stillness that percolated even the most rambunctious exchanges in the absence of blood songs, Café Jubilee didn’t feel too different from the stories of the Hanging Garden that always crawled with people who weren’t trying to be inconspicuous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The food was nice, Lady Briseis. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Briseis. Mrs. Drakma, if you want to be unnecessarily formal.” Lady — Mrs. Drakma lifted her own cup, drank and proceeded to set it down and stare it down as though it had done her a heinous betrayal. “More cat piss! This country, I swear!”</span>
</p><p><span>“Uh,” Valeriana said, eyes darting at the man behind the till in mortified dread. That was</span> <span>a disrespectful thing to belt out, even if they were surrounded by humans.</span></p><p>
  <span>Her agitation was met with an amused smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about Gino. He can’t make out a word of Barashnik and if he did, it would serve him right for daring to charge what he does for this rotten excuse for Darjeeling.” Mrs. Drakma pressed her palms against her forehead as if pushing back a headache. She looked, came the overdue realization, nearly as worn out as Valeriana felt. Her face had also turned grave, for reasons unlikely to relate to substandard tea. “Tell me just one thing, girl, before we move on. Why did you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana wetted her lips and averted her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was little doubt what the woman meant. The answer? She still wasn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked me to help her. I didn’t, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t mean for anything to turn out the way it did, I was supposed to get her out, she was supposed to get out, but I didn’t think it through like I should have and now she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” The hand she’d wrapped around her mug, on reflex for want of something to crush, looked a concerning, drained white. She had to remind herself to work air through the knot in her throat, since there was no one left to do it for her. She knew she sounded strained and wheezy and pathetic as she went on, unable to stop now that she’d come uncorked. “Your sister — I’m sorry, but what she was doing to that human was mean and horrible and not right. I don’t think she’s a good person. She helped me, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maz is a cunt. No need to mince words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“— but if I hadn’t, if I’d stayed put like I was meant to, if I had just let that girl be, she wouldn’t have—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me stop you there for a bit. You seem to have gotten your head all confused about where the fault lies in this matter; not unusual after exposure to my sister, so the sooner we get you sorted . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> my fault!” And now she was crying again, on top of everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear, this won’t do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gino</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Mrs. Drakma windmilled her arms to get the man’s attention. Whatever she said to him, he passed it on to one of the waiters, who ducked behind the counter. Valeriana was too lost somewhere else to keep track of subsequent developments. She would have missed the glass set in front of her if Lady Briseis didn’t gesture at it imperiously. “Drink.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many years of acquaintance with Jack made a defensive </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘what is it?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> brave forth before she reminded herself that it was vanishingly unlikely that his aunt would ply her with spirits laced with paxpernia just because. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five to ten minutes of peace, depending on the speed of your healing factor. Tastes like unsweetened molasses. I doubt you’ll like it, but that’s not the point. Bottoms up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the barest pause before Valeriana seized the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether the woman had been accurate in her assessment of the flavor was left up in the air. She knocked it back without bothering to taste anything. A helping of peace, no matter how fleeting, sounded tantalizingly welcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma — Valeriana wondered where the surname came from, if her being mated stood among the many gaps in what she knew about her — plopped back in her pillowed chair and made a sign with her left hand. Not one Valeriana was familiar with, but the accompanying smile suggested it showed appreciation, approval, or at the very least, support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made herself smile back, wishing, among the dozens of other things she’d rather not be feeling, that she felt less out of her depth. Lady Marabeth had been an odious and in the end murderous presence, but the woman’s attitude towards her had fallen in line with how Valeriana expected to be treated. Enduring her barbs hadn’t been pleasant, but it had felt normal enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she was having — lunch, she supposed? One of the waiters had just shoved more food under both their noses with a cheerful but incomprehensible exclamation that Valeriana forced herself to smile at, though she was hopelessly lost. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lunch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With Jack’s mystery aunt, who had been hiding on Earth for thousands of years for reasons that allegedly included murder, who right now seemed determined to see her both fed and watered and . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>In</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like you are smelling a flower, </span>
  <em>
    <span>out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you are blowing a candle,” Mrs. Drakma instructed. Valeriana returned a baffled stare. She shrugged. “You started holding your breath again. Drink hasn’t hit yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It always takes a minute.” Longer, depending. One of her body’s lesser quirks was its propensity to undergo a deferral period when introduced to anything new, as though it needed time to decide what to do with whatever she’d foisted on it. She had been veritably drunk three times. One had been Jack’s fault, another Belladonna’s, the last of a girl at manners school who had thought it hilarious to prank her dorm by spiking a shared juice canister with Black Chira. They hadn’t been interesting experiences. As far as she was told, her inebriated self was the same as her regular self, except more prone to crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, Valeriana perceived trimmings of fog creeping in on her thoughts, but remained clear-headed enough to be on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about yourself, Valeriana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from Lenosh,” she replied, wondering why it was suddenly so easy to speak. Oh. Alcohol. Yes. “I have three sisters; Ange and Bells and I share a mother, Tess is from my father’s first mating, but they’ve all died. Our mothers, that is. I don’t think you are likely to know my father if you haven’t been to Barashi in the last thousand years, but we live across from your sister. Well, across, as in </span>
  <em>
    <span>on the other side of the forest,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it’s a short walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how long have you worked for her for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She touched her temple. Odd. She was familiar with the framework for how her own thinking went and therefore knew that having to defend herself against a question like that should have sent her spiraling. Yet the words just flowed. “I never worked for her. She wanted me to, because Jack asked her to help me and I suppose she thought that giving me a job would do that, but. Before today, or maybe that’s yesterday already, I’m sorry but I’ve lost track, we’d never spoken much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma nodded, appearing pensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First day, then?” She looked very, very pleased, which Valeriana didn’t know what to do with. “First day, and you just up and decided that you ought to help free one of her victims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked me.” A thought that had come to her earlier but never had the chance to develop sprung to the tip of Valeriana’s tongue, aided by the absence of the inhibitions that would have made her keep silent otherwise. It was a little like her state after she’d killed Ralen, except she talked instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I think it might have been a test. I think that if you hadn’t called her away, Lady Marabeth would still have made up an excuse to leave me alone, just to see what I did. Rachel looked so much like me it was frightening. That doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are almost certainly right on the mark, there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So . . . she wanted me to fail?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she might have wanted you to succeed. Isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>a more disturbing prospect? Eat your soup.” Mrs. Drakma, she was fast learning, had little in common with Lady Marabeth whether in appearance or demeanor, but one thing they did share was an unshakeable aura of being the person in charge in any space they entered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know why that, for the first time since she could recall, tempted her to mutiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at the bowl of mystery soup with bread on the side. She felt no more hungry than she had before the chocolate. The soup was a saturated green. Still, for a flicker of a second she could have sworn it turned—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana pushed the bowl aside as fast as she could pull off without coming across as insane, trying to claw her way out of visions of deep waters and tall flames and the shine of crystals and starlight and the glare of ceiling lamps; blood and burning and other unfair things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth,” Mrs. Drakma said, having thankfully missed her reaction or elected to ignore it, “I am overjoyed. On every world our kind touches, we build settlements over the corpses of the natives and take their children away in chains. That is our way. It’s not often that I get to meet someone else who understands that it is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . don’t know about that.” Freeing the human had been a matter of many things, foremost among them the conviction that what Lady Marabeth did and proposed to do to her was not something a sapient living being should be put through. It had been a matter of sympathy and seeing herself reflected more starkly than she could bear the sight of. It hadn’t been meant as a political or societal statement. “I just wanted to help her, and I — couldn’t. That’s all it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are other Rachels. Millions of them, most of whom don’t look like you, yet I would risk saying that if faced with them, you wouldn’t abandon them to their plight either.” Mrs. Drakma paused when she saw her shake her head, pursed her lips. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You think you would?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would be the point of trying? If I’d let her be, she’d still . . .” Valeriana’s words ran away from her but her thoughts remained as a pinned down butterfly, incapable of wandering down that beaten lane where all was dire and hope was fiction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than winding herself up, she kept breathing sedately, as though a much saner person had slunk behind the wheel and taken over. Strang— or, no, not strange. She was drunk or halfway there. She just kept forgetting because despite the heaviness of her head, the thoughts that had dwelled there beforehand had been so unpleasant that not even a kiss of spirits could turn them fluffy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you didn’t succeed at something on your first try.” Short, chewed on nails in a pallette of purples, blues and greens drummed on grainy wood. “That’s an incentive to do better next time, not your cue to give up. Would you agree that what you saw happen to that young woman was, in its essence, wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you feel like returning to Maz and trying your luck with groveling, see if she takes you back in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but . . .” Valeriana was held back from growing agitated by a tempest of fishing lines reeling in her most skittish and panicky thoughts. It probably wasn’t the drink doing that, though she didn’t know what other part of herself might possess such an ability. She didn’t, as was becoming obvious, know her own head as well as she’d believed. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t plan anything with Jack before leaving. I don’t know how I’ll reach him or how he’d find me if he shows up and I’m not where I’m supposed to be, or even when he’ll come to Earth, if he’s even still coming. I mean, I don’t suppose . . . would you know a way to get a message to him? Tell him what happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Jack would make of it all Valeriana couldn’t guess, but it felt, for many reasons, vital that he know her side of the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma lapsed into thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure. I’ve never spoken to the boy, and the contact I have with anyone back in Barashi is limited, given that . . .” A beat, short and delicate. “You’re a friend of one of my nephews, my sister’s neighbor. How much do you know about me? There must have been talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” In fact, Valeriana had learned more about her in the past day than in all the years she’d known Jack, who’d mentioned her existence and left it at that. What information she possessed, however, was not complimentary. “I know that you have, </span>
  <em>
    <span>uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, standing legal issues back in Barashi. And you don’t seem to get along with your sister very well—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snort that followed was epic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You could say that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that you have been living on Earth for a long time, and . . .” Tessalia’s words at the ball came to her, even if Tessalia or the ball in themselves seemed a lifetime removed from the present moment. Still, she’d rather go with what she had witnessed herself. “You like humans. Or appear to. You treated Rachel kindly, like she was an actual person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another snort, but one that brought a tension to the conversation that before, had hung only on Valeriana’s end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma’s eyes . . . turned. She couldn’t explain it better than that, couldn’t describe what they’d turned </span>
  <em>
    <span>from</span>
  </em>
  <span> and what into. She inched the chair back, sobering herself up without denouement, worried that the woman would lash out at her; it wouldn’t be the first time someone appeared perfectly civil at first only to turn out to— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>glassy eyes and a severed head and magic thick in the air and a door not opened in time. Blood and burning. Violation and villainy. Futures bright and futures dull, all crushed.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma collected herself. The previous warmth crept back in, and although her smile was too thin, too little mouth stretched over too much face, it was as close to a reassurance as Valeriana hoped to get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look around you,” the woman said, encompassing the nearby tables, the counter, the street outside, with a swoop of her arm. She spoke sternly, but receiving a lecture was among Valeriana’s lesser fears. “Then look me in the eye and tell me that these aren’t people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. You seem like a sweet girl, and I’m sure that you didn’t intend to imply that my attitude towards humanity is comparable to that of those enlightened souls who believe cats and dogs should wear trousers. But humor me all the same.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t dare do otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at Gino, who noticed her looking and balled his hand in a fist and stuck his thumb out — she’d need to figure out what that meant later — before going back to stacking bottles on a rack. She looked at the booths, where the father of the family she’d observed earlier had gotten into an argument with a portly man who’d tried lighting his pipe next to one of the children. She looked at the man reading alone and the couple speaking in hushed tones over their food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked back at Mrs. Drakma. The expectant look the woman returned suggested that her aim might have been to bring about a teachable moment rather than to shame her into a shivering, shriveled husk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was . . . novel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am very sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just trying to give you something to think about, love. No harm done.” The woman put a hand on her shoulder, making Valeriana’s insides feel pleasantly liquid as the tension vanished like it had never been. “Really, eat your soup. Then we’ll see about getting your situation sorted.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are we going</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana wasn’t certain it was a question that she could ask. Mrs. Drakma seemed to think nothing of it, however, seeing them safely to the sidewalk across the street before replying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need a place to stay.” Denials or bashful assurances to the contrary were steamrolled under the reality that relying on Mrs. Drakma’s charity was the only viable alternative to sleeping on the street. She started a flurry of regrets about imposing, but was waved to silence. “None of that. I would not let you return to my sister one way or another, and my reasoning for that isn’t entirely unselfish. If you came crawling back, she’d be smug about it until the day I end her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>But that would be a</span>
  </em>
  <span>—I mean, she’s your— the High Council—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll find this an odd thing to hear, but one learns not to care abound committing a blood crime when one has a sister like Maz. I care even less for what the Council has to say. Or, well, Abe is on there now, so I’ll listen very politely and sisterly if he wants to have our first real conversation since . . . I can’t remember, twas after the Ring was cast and before humanity relearned that you can’t sail to the edge of the world and plop off.” Mrs. Drakma shook her head, making the beehive of hair even more of a ruin. “Anyhow. Do you know for how long there’s been a kill-on-sight directive with my name on it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uhm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No.” Valeriana wanted to ask what the woman had done to warrant it more than she wanted to know how long ago she’d done it, but Mrs. Drakma sped up her pace, and it didn’t seem like the time to ask unless it got brought up on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were out of what she’d gathered to be the town centre; the buildings on the outskirts weren’t set so close together. They were also smaller, and most only came up to one story high. Valeriana thought of the towering constructions of Alkarosh, every one of them a behemoth, and the traditional Lenoshi houses that made up in width for what they lacked in height. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of what she saw could hope to be as impressive, which had the welcome effect of divesting them from any menace their unfamiliarity might have lent them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen more than one empire rise and fall in the time since our world decided I had to die.” Mrs. Drakma winked, her smile catlike in its self-satisfaction. “Look how </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> worked out. Frankly, I can’t think of any reason why I ought to mind laws passed by a government too lazy to chase me if I break them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A take on life which Valeriana hadn’t encountered before. She was still mulling it over when Mrs. Drakma stopped without warning, nearly making her trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are.” It seemed to occur to the woman, as she showed off a house similar to the boxy wooden ones surrounding it, except built of stone, that she’d moved away from answering the question of where </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>was and then never gotten back to it. “Your temporary residence. I can’t, for several reasons including but not limited to the gnarly messy state of my residence, keep you myself, so you’ll be staying with some of my associates. Provided that they are amenable, of course. FRANK! TONYA!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quickly becoming apparent to Valeriana that Mrs. Drakma was someone in whose company she could never have let herself be seen at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A head popped up behind the tall fence surrounding the house. The absence of a blood song meant it was a human, specifically a female human of undetermined age, with wrinkles around the eyes but no white in her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank’s off working, Mrs. D!” she called. Valeriana could divine the gist of what she’d said, since </span>
  <em>
    <span>work </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a very recognizable piece of slave dialect, but didn’t catch any of the conversation that followed except for her name being said every so often. The human’s eyes skidded towards her throughout, curious and alert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Tonya,” Mrs. Drakma told her, once the conversation appeared over. “You can have her spare room. She speaks Barashnik, so does her husband. Don’t be rude about their accent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t,” Valeriana protested, appalled that she could have unwittingly made some observation about Mrs. Drakma’s own peculiar way of speaking that had led her to conclude that she’d be likely to make such a comment. She thought back and couldn’t recall any such instances, but . . . “It’s nice to meet you, T—uh . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, I won’t get your name right either, without making an effort.” The human actually spoke more intelligible Barashnik than the Tsikalayan beside her, which was surreal. “You’re joining the Front?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another time, Tonya.” There was a note of warning in Mrs. Drakma’s voice, a look traded between the two that put Valeriana in mind of the ones exchanged by her sisters when they were leaving her out of a secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In and out. Flowers and candles</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She wouldn’t let herself wonder about more webs being woven around her that she was part of, but not party to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In and out. Flow and follow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only staying until my friend comes,” she mumbled, edging through the fence. It was an explanation, and it was an apology, but mostly it was an attempt to reassure herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma laid a hand on her shoulder and said nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Crash and Crumble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Valerie came to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In bits and pieces at first, consciousness stuttering like an unstable phone connection. Her eyelids, stuck a fraction of the way open, let only a sickle of brightness bleed through; she could neither lift nor shutter them. She existed within her body, residually aware, but her ability to ask questions such as ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>what, who, how?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> was lost, adrift in an unbreachable fog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie lingered like that until she began to perceive voices, distorted and incomprehensible, sounding around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impulse to respond ran smack into the fact that her mouth had been rendered an immovable, monolithic entity. Once she could think clearer, she was glad for it. What would she have said? Asked where she was? Pointless. She knew. Not on what floor, not in which room, but any doubts that she was in the Mayfly were dispelled by a glimpse of black button eyes and skin as milk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ki-laar was saying something, something she should pay attention to, but every noise bled into the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ki-laar receded from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar face replaced it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waking to find Jack staring at her, holding something sharp under the harsh lights overhead — </span>
  <em>
    <span>scalpel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was the word washing up from the wilds of her brain — should have produced a reaction. Instead, Valerie regarded the hand closing in unblinkingly, incapable of doing anything but.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lost track of the scalpel as it moved into her blind spot. If it touched her anywhere, she didn't feel it. Jack was purposefully ignoring - </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No, she realized, he wasn't ignoring her. He believed her still unconscious. Perhaps it wasn't easy to tell she'd woken, with her lying as lifelike as a doll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he was just</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> dense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scalpel sailed back into view every so often, always stained red. Jack focused on a spot below her collarbone. Occasionally his eyes strayed to her face and met her frozen eyes as if to check how she was doing, before darting back as if he'd reminded himself that she didn't feel a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idiot. Cretin. Blind,</span>
  <em>
    <span> absolute </span>
  </em>
  <span>moron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet not wrong. She truly felt . . . not a lot. Not the cutting; not his hand when it repositioned a curl falling over her eye, nor the pressure of his palm when it lingered against her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt his breath warm her skin when he leaned in to inspect something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost. Barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scalpel danced above her, refracting the lamplight. The Ki-laar fluttered into view to hand Jack things, but he didn't address them except to issue short commands that didn't enlighten her about his aim in doing whatever he was doing. She didn't want to lose herself in wondering, either. Running through the possibilities would only make her sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Plink, </span>
  </em>
  <span>went something on her right side. Jack tilted his head and disappeared to her left, muttering something that Valerie was a hair away from making out in full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She discovered that her eyelids were no longer jammed in place. She could blink now, and signal that she was awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She refrained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less than a minute later, a pang in her arm let her know that her nerve endings had come back to life. It was lucky that Jack picked that as the time to move her, or he might have caught the flinch that she was unable to suppress.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click, click, tlack,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she was turned on her side, then flipped over. She kept herself limp, her breathing sedate, praying that it didn’t occur to Jack to take her pulse, because that one was galloping fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Slice, slice, slice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He worked his way through muscles and ligaments with precise cuts, fast, presumably to prevent her from healing over his efforts. It was only when he traded the scalpel for another tool and pulled at something that slid out as though it had never belonged inside her that the pieces started fitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie remembered Sykes, him or his men landing a shot where Jack had just cut her or thereabouts. When he turned away, she let her sight slide to her left. She sighted a plastic kidney dish, containing bullets and wads of bloody gauze.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, relieved despite herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Among the grisly options for why Jack might decide she needed surgery, this ranked as . . . well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Benign.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She took a moment to curse Sykes and his cohort of dead assholes before wondering about the origin of the other bullets. Omaha, probably. She'd taken plenty of hits there, and since metals other than silver didn't sting once healed around, they weren't so easy to keep track of unless they were somewhere in the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trust Jack to make going over her with a metal detector a priority upon capturing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her relief got flattened to the floorboards of her mind once she turned that thought over. The next peek she stole was urgent and directed at her left thigh, where, sure enough, a black X marked the spot where she'd buried the single card she'd come in holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie couldn't swear aloud, but in her head she did. Abundantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd find the knife. Get to it sooner or later, depending on how much metal she had embedded elsewhere. He'd spend a moment despairing at her lack of self-preservation, and then he’d toss it in the bowl with every other bit of evidence that she couldn't be trusted to mind her own body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new voice cut through the haze of her panic, speaking the first sentence she could make out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Has the bitch been shoving a pipe factory up her gut?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I told you that I don't care for you calling her that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, and I didn't care for having my face </span>
  <em>
    <span>set on fucking fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did she give a hoot?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie fixed her gaze on a spot in the mid-distance as Nick edged into view. He stopped by her head, blocking the light, and crouched until he was level with her nose. After examining her a while, he huffed with disgust or loathing or contempt or all three, and moved away. Valerie felt herself unwind. Nick was no more likely than Jack to pick up on her being awake, but if by a twist of fate he did, it would have been mortifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said I didn’t want to be disturbed. Do you have a reason for being here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I left you three messages and called five times. Byron also tried. Answer your phone sometime, will you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She exploded my phone, and I didn’t get around to finding a new one yet. What is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lady B wants a word."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause, as the atmosphere frosted over without as much as an if you please. Both men had stepped out of Valerie's line of sight, but she could picture Jack's face based on his tone alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lady? So my blasted aunt, of all people, merits respectful address?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure.” Nick's delivery was just as open in belying his annoyance. “She's always been a class act. Doesn't make a fuss, never set me on fire, never tried to maim me or </span>
  <em>
    <span>stab my mother.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I mean, sucks about Lady Maz, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanderwillshetillrebirth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but, dude. Trying to off each other was their bananas way of being sisterly. Fair enough that you want to drag her in front of the Council for it, but— whatever. Look. She was damn insistent, so go down there and check what the fuck she wants so that she'll shut up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does that woman," Jack spat the word like it meant something nothing so neutral, "have the slightest inkling of the position she's in? Does she think herself entitled to my time to the point where I should drop my engagements and rush to meet whatever asinine request—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. I'm taking time off from wrangling the books to play carrier pigeon, and I'd like to get everything sorted before the numbers from the last shipment are in. Can't do that when I keep being distracted by her nattering."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why are you doing bookkeeping where you can hear her in the first place? You have an office."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't do any good when the others keep calling about this crap asking that I sort it out. None of them want to come within spitting range of your psycho girlfriend." A beat. A sharp inhalation. "Look. You realize that everyone, and I mean everyone</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks that keeping her like . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is well. Dangerous? Insane?</span>
  <em>
    <span> Somewhat fucking concerning? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Axis has been passing around a 'please-kill-her-already' petition. Even the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ki-laar</span>
  </em>
  <span> lined up to sign, without anyone even asking for their input!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Axis.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, she's not right in the head and murders people. What did you expect? He's not thrilled. No one is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I expected that some would think twice before exceeding boundaries," Jack sneered, in a manner suggesting that Axis might soon find himself out of a job and some unfortunate Ki-laar deprived of heads. "She's drugged, unconscious, unarmed and under the effect of a damper. What in the world are they worried she'll do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick's reply was unvoiced and to Valerie unseen, but seemingly persuasive. She heard the shuffling of feet, felt a shadow falling over her and the icy bite of a chain around her ankles. Her left arm, which had been set at an angle to allow better access to her shoulder, was returned to her side and laid out parallel to her leg, palm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click. Tlack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Watch her until I get back," Jack said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure thing," Nick replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both gone from the room within a minute of each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie waited a while before moving, unwilling to believe that she could be so lucky, certain that Nick had only stepped out to get a stun gun or more chains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once it turned out that leaning in with an almighty sneer and hissing '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>!' in her impassive face had been his parting salvo, that his lack of commitment to babysitting her was genuine and that he'd gone back to engaging in Nick-typical activities elsewhere, Valerie's elation was only muted by her awareness of how much everything remained far from ideal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick had shut the door upon leaving, allowing her a minuscule pocket of time in which to act. The pitter-pattering steps of Ki-laar rushing up and down the hallway outside made her jump and freeze up. She forced herself to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table she lay on was not built for a Tsikalayan. The ankle chains, of simple, unalloyed iron, didn't strike her as sturdy. The manacles were just hardened plastic, which bordered on insulting. The cyan line on her wrist was all that prevented her from making short work of her trappings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although as far as deterrents went, it was an effective one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie wriggled her left hand, thinking it a godsend that Jack hadn't bound her arms behind her back. Her fingers felt strange. Stiff, as though they needed to thaw. She curled them to her palm, stretched them out, repeated the motion five times to ensure that they responded as they should. They didn't entirely, but she'd have to make do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't look forward to the next minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Easy breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was, all said and done, the best among the worst case scenarios.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step one, remove the blade. Her left hand was stuck at the right level, but at a four-inch distance from her thigh. The wrist manacle was fixed to the table and afforded her no slack. The ankle chains were less unforgiving, but bending her hips towards her hand so that her fingertips touched her thigh meant straining her legs so much that were she at full strength, she would have popped her feet off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain lanced through her side in a misguided warning to halt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie ignored it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed her fingertips against the black cross. Unable to shift her nails, she was reduced to compressing the flesh as much as her reach allowed, to get the knifepoint to pierce through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had Jack started from the bottom up instead of the other way around, she'd have been screwed. She might still be. He could return at any moment. A Ki-laar could walk in. Staff could be watching through the CCTV system that Marabeth had made an unpleasant surprise of back in the seventies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less important but relevant, what she was about to do would</span>
  <em>
    <span> hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her skin was getting slippery with blood and so were her fingers, making it a trying endeavor to grab the blade. When she lost purchase and the flesh she'd been pressing back came up to swallow the steel like a cresting wave, she almost cried out in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But try and try, and try again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gnashing her teeth, Valerie started over. This time she strained the leg away from her hand to help the metal pull free. It worked better. She took a deep breath to collect herself as the blade came out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step two, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step two, angle the edge towards the base of her thumb, remove the excess flesh and pare down the bone that stood in the way of that hand slipping free. She would have squeezed her eyes shut if she didn't need to see herself work. If the plastic were softer, her hands defter and her grip trustworthy, if she had the time to spare, she could have tried chipping away at the manacle. As things stood . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd have to remove and regrow that hand either way. Only way to ditch the damper's mark. The reminder did little to cheer her up, but cemented her resolve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a practical level, it was easy cutting. The prickling of skin knitting back together was so muted that she could have sworn that she'd been injected with distilled paxpernia, or picked up an askara blade by mistake. When, after a protracted pause, she did start healing, it came as both a relief and an incentive to hasten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she worked, Valerie tried to think of happy things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had a handful of memories put aside for times such as these. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lying on her back on warm sand, watching the sun set over the desert horizon, a song she'd forgotten the lyrics of haltingly ground out by a transistor radio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A colleague from the Southland section, his name yielded to time, holding a plastic bag — '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Redmont, these are those funky sea slugs you like fried, aren't they? We got you a bunch but didn't know how long they kept fresh, so we bought them alive!'</span>
  </em>
  <span> Someone deciding that the slugs were too adorable to be food and adopting them on the spot; an afternoon spent improvising an aquarium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curling up in a back row seat at the Vertex Amphitheater on a trip to Cahedros. Trying to watch a play while kicking her companion for complaining that the plot was complete nonsense and the main girl couldn’t sing —</span>
  <em>
    <span> 'No, I mean it, if you don't keep it down they'll ask us to leave, and this is the last performance of the season—'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie groaned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Actual happy memories only.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn't feel her arm anymore, which made cutting difficult, but she might be done or nearly so. Her thumb wasn't off, but hung by a thread, so that when she wrenched the hand through the manacle and it caught there, it was the bone that relented. Her remaining fingers passed through with a slurping sound, helped along by how slick the blood had made them. She danced on the edge of fainting. She didn't have a problem with blood, but only as long as it was other people's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, arm free meant she could move onwards to step —</span>
  <em>
    <span> focus, keep focus!</span>
  </em>
  <span> — three.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step three. Remove the dampers' mark. Keep from passing out. Restrain the part of her that pondered her odds of making it without leaving behind a piece of herself. Hands were a hassle to grow back from scratch, second only to feet. So many fiddly bones to slot together. She'd only had to do it once. It had taken nine days for the new limb to match the old one in form and function, and the process had been hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Focus.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Focus.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With the flat portion of the blade clasped between her middle and index finger, she slid her mangled hand under her stomach, pushing until she had the arm close enough to her right thigh to transfer the slippery instrument into the hand that remained bound. She then aligned the hand that needed to come off over it, so that the metal sat a third of an inch under the blue line left by the damper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sucked in a breath, knowing that what came next would be neither pleasant nor clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slammed open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie’s hesitation got wiped away by boots thundering in and the agitated, profanity laden shouting that ensued. She forced her arm down, wedging steel into her wrist, pushing to bone and beyond, shaking like a leaf, teeth hurting from how hard she clenched them, nerve endings stumbling over themselves to send signals to stop, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop, cease.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dizzily, she hissed back a denial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck! What the fucking—FUCK!" Nick shot forward, but too late, much too late, would still have been too late if he didn't slip on something along the way. Presumably her blood. There was so, so much blood, Valerie noted, surprising herself with her own detachment. Blood, rippling from where her hand used to connect, down the side of the table and onto the floor, painting it like a masterpiece of abstract expressionism. She wasn’t in an awful lot of pain yet; probably it would come once the shock wore off. "Astara above, what the fuck is wrong with you? Who gets the idea to . . . ack, merciful goddess, that's just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross</span>
  </em>
  <span>!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Facing the carved stump, seeing white, sinewy filaments lashing out from where her hand used to connect, Valerie felt inclined to agree. It shouldn't be bleeding so much still, which was . . . concerning. How long did it take for the damper's effect to lift, once the focal point of the magic was tossed a great distance with extreme prejudice? Would she have time to find out?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stall</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she commanded herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Calm down. Stall.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"</span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t bailed on standing watch?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Crazy. Fucking. Bitch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don't move. Stay right where you are!" A tentacle sailed past, curving towards the floor and picking up — she'd really made a mess of it, hadn't she? Yet somehow the sick feeling from before was lessened with the anticipation over, the deed done. There was just a slight touch of vertigo as Nick held the gory remains at limb's length, unwilling to bring them closer. "Does this reattach if you glue it back on? Fuck, where does that dipstick keep the tape . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire, fire pulsing along her arm. Her face halving, sharp teeth sliding into place over blunt ones, claws springing from her fingertips. There would even have been time to pull her feet free, if Nick hadn't been swift to react. If she herself hadn't been rendered slow by phantom pain, real pain and blood loss.</span>
</p><p><span>Either way, the man tore himself outside Valerie’s reach and, for once, did not turn tail and run. She was in nothing like prime fighting shape, and he had to know it. He launched himself at her, teeth out, nails sharpened, tentacles surging from his back, chest, thighs, every spot from which they were traditionally brought out and a few from places where Valerie had seen no one even</span> <span>attempt to sprout them.</span></p><p>
  <span>She stabbed Nick with the knife blade, punched him in the groin, tore at his ear. It gave her enough leeway to extract herself from his grip, but once again she failed to lose the chains before a tentacle got to her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods above, if she was faring this poorly against Nicolai Cicerny . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tossing him off took thrice more effort than it should, and the fall didn't knock him out, meaning that she'd need to charge – oh, he was charging her first. Fantastic. She'd also left her only weapon embedded in his side. That scalpel from before, where had it gone to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie's eyes fell on a tray loaded with syringes and pharmacy bottles. She didn't check the labels, smashing the first within reach against Nick's forehead. She hoped that the second she seized contained poison, because that one she broke the top off and splashed at the gaping maw heading for her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither move was as effective in the short term as a knee to the balls and a kick to the face once she ripped both her legs free. Nick fell off and only made one attempt to get up before tumbling against the base of the table and remaining there, folded into himself and wheezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There'd been something useful in that second bottle. Good. She'd badly needed that win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stood, finished kicking Nick unconscious, discovered that standing had been a terrible idea and sat back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although there were only a handful of things she'd have liked to be doing less, she made an inventory of the damage. There were the incisions left over from the bullet extraction, close to shut. The mess she'd made of her thigh was headed there. The stump, however, pulsed like an organ that ought to be inside her body. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>shouldn't be bleeding this much still, although at least it bled slower than it had at the start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There might have been too much paxpernia in the drugs she'd been given. Or she'd been given too many drugs, period. Trust Jack to be the sort of idiot who'd double-dose her while trying to do something vaguely not awful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he'd given her had not only hindered her healing factor but also given it stupid, skewed priorities. The white strands where her arm ended continued to strain, reaching fruitlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hadn't kept track of where the amputated hand had flown and wasn’t inclined to search for it. It could be reattached. Slice off the portion bearing the blue line, join the parts, allow the twitchy strands to seal the connection. But then she'd end up with arms of mismatched length, and a hand that would be useless for half the days it took to grow a new one. Ultimately, it wasn't worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened every drawer on the movable station planted beside the table, gathering supplies. In the end, she had the stump wrapped in enough gauze and surgical tape to stop it from leaking everywhere. The rest was close enough to healing that she didn’t bother with dressings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clothes were next. She'd been stripped down to her underwear; another reason to curse Jack into Darkness Everlasting. Expanding her survey beyond herself revealed a messy pile of blue and red fabric on a nearby counter. She dragged herself towards it, still shaky on her feet but no longer certain that she'd topple after every next step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pants and shirt were too shredded to be wearable, but the tiny vial of paxpernia had gone undiscovered. Valerie returned to the table and considered the unconscious man slumped against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever else one might say about him, Nick had decent taste in clothes. The jacket would be big on her, and she could only pray those pants came with a belt, and the shoes were a no go, but there was enough there worth scavenging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An alarm sounded somewhere while she slipped on the last item. Her time was running out, yet it was too soon to run. Head still too floaty. Movements too drunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She assembled every sharp implement in the vicinity and turned the table on its side, shielding behind it while the beating of feet drew nearer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ki-laar, by the sound of it. Good, best she could hope for. They weren't designed for battle. Marabeth would have wanted them to be, since it saved ever so much money to have a lab-grown, unflappably loyal indentured security force, but the High Council didn't look favorably on such things. Species that could give Tsikalayans a run for their money in a fight were prone to rebellion. Going around creating more posed too much of a risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, as much as they weren't born warriors, they weren't brainless. They didn't line up waiting to be pelted with whatever she had at hand. Rather, as soon as the first one to enter got a kidney dish in the face, they skidded out and ducked behind the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their physical weakness, Valerie was displeased to discover, was offset by them carrying those blue energy blasters. She had nothing so useful, and although the padded surface of the table was a poor conductor, if they got it into their heads to shoot at the parts that were metal . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way around it. She'd have to move. She couldn’t risk a stalemate that would give Jack or the other Tsikalayans on staff time to get there. Engaging them could only happen after she’d eaten something and replenished fluids; healing was taxing in the same measure of how much matter needed to be restored and how much energy she didn't have to spare. Right now, making up for the blood loss drained her more than sustaining it. It might be for the best that she was healing at a snail's pace, because she'd be running on empty once finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing about the situation was ideal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, suddenly, something</span>
  <em>
    <span> was. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Startled cries erupted from the Ki-laar contingent. Valerie herself made a reflexive, disbelieving noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights had gone out, plunging them into a darkness not everlasting, but unbelievably convenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn't hesitate. Didn't think, didn't question what had precipitated it. She stood, swinging the table around to knock away the Ki-laar rushing in. They were easily located in the darkness, the blue glow of the blaster tanks betraying their positions. With other light sources out and her in the thick of them, she felt confident that they wouldn't shoot and risk hitting each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It disturbed her, when she gave herself permission to meditate on the subject, that Ki-laar were so simple to make dead. Getting through them was like barreling through a folding screen made out of rice paper. Feeling as weak as she did, it was the fairest fight she had ever fought against them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There'd been attempts to unravel their unshakable, suicidal devotion to Marabeth, in light of them being as enslaved as the captives they worked on. The results, she'd been told, had been the opposite of encouraging. There simply wasn't much left to them, once one removed their drive to obey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing them unsalvageable only let wiping them out go a little lighter on her conscience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie wrestled the blaster off the one standing closest and slammed them into the floor. In the withering blue light, she saw them rupture like a squished grape and the concrete underneath fracture, cracks spreading from the point of impact. She wasted a fraction of a second too long on staring. Another Ki-laar jumped her. She caught their foot before they could land a hit to her stomach and flipped them overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that her position was likewise signaled by the blaster, they kept coming as an unbreakable tide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time to make herself scarce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blaster's energy tank was full. She ripped it out. Tossed it up in the air. Threw herself through two Ki-laar rushing her as it fell, shattering on contact with the ground and yes, there it was. Magic breaking free in concentrated form, corroding all it touched as it sprayed around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Valerie was out of the way by then, even stealing a second blaster as she went. On one hand, having it let her be seen. On another hand, having it meant having something to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>by.</span>
  </em>
  <span> On a third hand which outweighed all others, it meant that she was armed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power outage, or whatever had triggered the blackout — wasn't the Mayfly supposed to have an emergency generator? — might be resolved from one minute to the next. She'd make as much use of it as she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She limped ahead, keeping an eye out for glowing blue and her ears attuned to steps and blood songs. She couldn't tell which floor it was. Having the lights on would only have made it marginally less difficult. After so many years and dozens of break-ins of varying levels of success, she still had trouble finding her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack and Nick had spoken of </span>
  <em>
    <span>down </span>
  </em>
  <span>whilst discussing Mrs. Drakma. Worth considering, but later on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mayfly was a chess board doubling as a labyrinth. Featureless corridors leading into more corridors, doors opening up into sterile spaces resembling operating theaters, gods above she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> this place. She opened doors at random, slipping silently past the ones through which she heard the chittering of Ki-laar. When the next she shed light through revealed a crew restroom, with an aluminum table, a coffee maker surrounded by mugs, a sink, a</span>
  <em>
    <span> fridge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she could have wept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fluids took priority. Valerie filled a mug with water, an awkward thing to do one handed, poked holes in every sugar package she found, dumped them in and chugged as fast as she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The relief wasn't instant, but when it hit, it was with the force of a meteor strike. She refilled the mug twice before braving the fridge. The contents were disappointing. Plenty of condiments, but no food save for a block of cheese and a container of unidentified slop that she wasn't desperate enough to touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She emptied a bottle of aioli and polished off the cheese while she walked around, shining light on the surrounding surfaces, hoping to find something better. The search yielded a package of ground coffee. Refusing to indulge the urge to glare at it, she mixed the whole thing with tap water, making a lumpy black soup. She worked it down, reasoning that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> need the caffeine badly. Her head spun by the end, but it was an energized kind of spinning, and therefore alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What next?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The notes of a blood song drifted in from outside, putting that train of thought out of commission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stood, sighing. She grabbed the coffee maker and lobbed it at Byron's head as he knocked down the door. He deflected it with a flick of a tentacle, feinted the chair she threw at him next, and stepped out of the way when she shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie threw herself, twisting mid-air to land against him, kicking before he could use his limbs to trap her. There was a miniature earthquake when they collided, and neither got off lightly. While Byron hit the floor, a rogue tentacle slammed her against the wall. The impact was great enough to crush bricks, and ricocheted through Valerie's chest and spine, stealing her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of all moments, the lights picked that one to flicker back on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was rendered blind while her eyes readjusted to the brightness. Thankfully, the same applied to Byron, making it a zero-sum game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was soon back on the offensive, however, lashing out and forcing Valerie to roll to evade him. The queasiness she'd thought to have shed returned with a vengeance. She might have broken something, too. Her back didn't feel right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed to get rid of him. Permanently and posthaste, no ifs or buts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tentacle caught her by the throat and pressed her face down against the tiles. She was able to twist herself so that her attacker was pulled to her level. They rolled over the floor, Byron trying to strangle her, she trying to amputate him with her teeth, until they hit a wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Byron was the one who ended trapped against it, purely by coincidence. If the corridor were any wider or narrower, it would have been her in the same bind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie didn't enjoy that thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting all her strength in her one hand, she pressed Byron's shoulders to the wall. Her vision spotted with the effort and the lack of air, because that one tentacle was still exerting pressure on her throat, but she persevered, catching his fist with her teeth when he struck at her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Byron yelled something ugly and incoherent and hooked her with his other fist, right in the gut. Coffee and sugar water and bits of cheese splashed back into her mouth, but she didn't let herself double over and didn't let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Godsdamned –</span>
  <em>
    <span> give – up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" he bit out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie head butted him by way of replying and kneed him in the groin for good measure. He escaped her grasp, becoming a whirlwind of punches and growls, as determined to end her as she was set on ending him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fair, if inconvenient. She doubled her efforts to claw his face off.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Give up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she'd been told so many times, by those who believed they had her backed into a corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't you ever give up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had also been asked, as many times or more, by those who'd seen her get out of those same corners in a maelstrom of anger and body parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never, </span>
  </em>
  <span>had always been the answer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never while I live, and never even if it kills me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Byron yanked her off by the neck. He meant to bash her into the floor. Valerie chomped on the thinner part of the limb, which still saw her go down but the landing softened, her legs having time to buckle and disperse what would otherwise have been an incapacitating hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shirked him as he fell upon her. The ground took the brunt of the fall. Cracks spread. She had known that the floors weren't all too enduring from the damage a single Ki-laar had done, and Byron was heavier, much, much stronger, and had meant to slam the life out of her with that move. It impressed her that he could stand up after, and not even appear unbalanced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something which she fully intended to fix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie pointed the blaster at his feet. The floor; either target was acceptable. She kept firing at that one spot where the cracks ran deeper, until she could feel the warmth more than the magic itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Byron made the crucial mistake of wasting a second staring at her like she was crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie threw herself at him, pushing him down, minding little that she offered an opening for more limbs to wrap about her. The second blow was more than the weakened concrete could take. It crumbled under their combined weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Byron struck out with a tentacle, seeking purchase. Valerie made sure he didn't find it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like they fell forever. She got burned breaking through the heated cinder blocks, and then more when a splash of liquified metal, coming off the melted steel beams running through the floor, scalded the back of her neck. She still took the time to put Byron's eyes out. He hit the ground first, gravity and mass working against him, and when she crashed down on him a split second later, the fight was settled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a messy denouement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie turned on her side, spat out leftover blood and wiped her mouth. Only after did she check where she'd landed. No blood songs, only the dying notes of Byron's, so far so good, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, excellent, but also</span>
  <em>
    <span>, shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her spine screamed in the universal language of agony when she hauled herself to her feet. She bent back, shimmying until she felt the dislodged pieces settle where they were supposed to be. She would have stayed on the floor until healed, but she couldn't afford to take a break. The job would have to be concluded with her upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chamber where she'd landed was vast, the ceiling way up high, explaining the long freefall. Gangways and stairs spiraled along the walls. From top to bottom, the space was laden with bodies as far as the eye could see. She still didn't know what floor this was, but it had to be among the deeper ones, for her to have fallen inside a holding room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie regarded the faces stuck behind glass panes, the rows and rows of them. They were bathed in semi-darkness. She could only make them out by the glow of reflective strips encircling them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One encasement caught her eye. The man inside returned her stare and blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What—" Valerie paid the people she bypassed closer looks as she stumbled forward, and sure enough, most showed subtle signs of consciousness, which became glaring as awareness of her presence spread. She could see fear, thick enough to make her reflexively gulp. She hastened her pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was blatant that the man who'd blinked had taken more than a few hits; his eyes were framed by ghoulish purple and blue splotches, one of them almost swollen shut. He was bulky, with a dark complexion and hair streaked with gray. More than when Valerie had last seen him, but humans were like that. Leave them alone for a decade and they'd wrinkle, go silver or bald, shrink until they were laid down to feed the earth and all that crawled within it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep down, it never ceased to disturb her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie peeled the front of the container off, careful that she didn't break the glass. It wasn't advisable to pull someone out of these devices, since they had neural inhibitors built in, but by the looks of it, most if not all were inactive, else the captives wouldn't be awake. The man continued to blink while she broke off the plastic manacling him in place, as if he had trouble bringing her face into focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Santos." She let him lean against her. The way his head bobbed on his neck concerned her. How old was he now? Pushing sixty, perhaps over. No age to be used as a punching bag, for a human. "Santos . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charlie. Can you hear me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Maria.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont. Valerie. Maria isn't here." Although to be truthful, she hadn't gone around and checked. "Look . . . can I leave you a minute? I'll see if I can find her." And find out whether there was anyone in better shape among the other known faces. She recognized some as having been part of the Westmont section back in her day. At least one of them was hanging on well enough to be shouting her name from the back rows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"South end of the floor," Santos said, words slurred. "There's a room they use for batch training, another for—" He appeared to choke on something, speech fizzling out. Just as well. Valerie suspected that she knew where that had been headed, and would rather not dwell on it before she had no choice in the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right. Don't talk. Actually, I'm making you sit down, because you probably shouldn’t be standing. I'm going to check who's yelling." And now also banging their head. They would break the glass at this rate. Santos looked like he wanted to argue, but the reality of his position made him relent. His gaze drifted off her face to her left sleeve as she settled him against the container. His brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hurried away before he could ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The banger turned out to be both known and overjoyed to see her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont, marry me!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Blakely. And that's a '</span>
  <em>
    <span>no, thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>' to that." Valerie exhaled with untold relief when the man didn't crash upon release. Since he looked like he'd been dragged through the plains of hell, she didn't bring up that it was life threatening to propose to her, even in jest. If Jack overheard that . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What happened to your hand?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Damper. Had to ditch it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Still crazy, then. Awesome!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmn. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you safe to stand on your own?" The thing she'd always liked about Blakely, and which the years had left unchanged, was that he was the type who took everything, up to and including the end of the world, in his stride. Crack a joke, get on with things. It made him easy to work with. "Good. I'm getting the rest of the Front out. You're more on top of who's part of the Westmont section these days, so. Help?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're only freeing ours?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think—" Valerie glanced at where she’d left Santos. As Mrs. Drakma's second-in-command in Westmont, these decisions were his to make. Considering the state he was in, however . . . "Ours only. We stand a better chance of making it if we don't have to worry about frightened civilians who will drop like flies if it comes to a fight. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>come to a fight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, well, if that's your argument, then I'm getting this guy out." Blakely pointed at a sallow faced man in an adjoining container, who failed to trigger a twinge of recognition. "Name's Pembroke. Crazy motherfucker took down two Caheans and didn't even know what Caheans were. We talked a bit before they put us in here. He's ex-marine, or something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, yes, alright."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And that one over there," Blakely went on, talking rapid fire while pointing at a woman who Valerie had just passed over. "Mean right hook, put up a better fight than Harmon. Also an asset</span>
  <em>
    <span>. In my opinion.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Judith is d—" Valerie caught herself, because she couldn't start down that road, the road where she let herself feel things about information like that. Although Judith Harmon's personality was an acquired taste, she'd always had a soft spot for her. It was therefore a relief when Blakely shook his head with wry disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Phased out like a pussy right before the Keep Out spell went up. She's probably forgotten that we even exist. That's how it works, according to him." He waved at another man who Valerie didn't recognize, although she had a niggling feeling that she ought to. She narrowed her eyes, attempting to place him, while Blakely went on, fumbling with something at the back of the container. "I think there's some mechanism to get these boxes open without having to — aha! Found it!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good job. This one, who is he?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Webbs? He transferred here five years ago. I thought you knew him, he said he knew you." Blakely waved a hand in front of the man's face. Unlike the others, he had his eyes shut. "He was doing consultancy before, hopping between sections. I think he may also have been retired at one point? Oh, and he's part several aliens."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie plastered her palm to her forehead.</span>
</p><p><span>"</span><em><span>Those idiots.</span></em><span>" She'd never contemplated that a thought such as </span><em><span>'This wouldn't have happened with Marabeth in charge' </span></em><span>could emerge in the woman's favor, but facts were facts. Never would Marabeth have let someone who was </span><em><span>at</span></em><span> most</span> <span>one third human be put in storage with the purebred ones. Thank the gods they hadn't tried to drug him, who knew that would have done. "I know him, yes. We met back in the war. He changed his face since we last saw each other, hence why I didn't recognize him."</span></p><p>
  <span>"Huh. Which war?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Big one in the forties. Webber? You awake?" Containment had affected him differently, for the worse, as he was slow to react. Honestly, even if there weren't scanning procedures in place, one would think someone would have noticed that Webber's hands had much in common with duck feet; the only feature which his Soral heritage didn't let him disguise. She shook him a little. "Blink if you can hear me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi," he eventually slurred, much like Santos had but sleepier. "Good to see you, Tentacles."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hush." It twisted something inside her, to find him like this. Webber didn't class as a friend, since they didn't put in much effort to keep in touch, but he was someone Valerie had known and appreciated the existence of for a long time. She let him be and turned to Blakely. "What else did he say about the spell? Is there a way to get rid of it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rivers and Madam McKenna tried to pull it apart with. . . I don't recall what they called it. Anyway, didn't work, both got turned to sludge. That's when Webbs and some others started thinking, well, to be honest I don't know how their thinking went, I'm no wizard and didn't ask for details, just did as I was—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Care to tell me why you two are standing here gabbing, instead of getting busy freeing these people?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie suppressed a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Santos, you shouldn't be walking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My question still stands." The older man approached with steps that tried to pass for steady but failed to look anything other than awkward. Valerie not so subtly edged to his side to catch him should he keel over, which earned her a caustic glare. "Lay off, I'm not a goddamn invalid. Blakely, start getting everyone out of these blasted coffins and tell them to do the same for the others if they're up to it. I don't know how much time we'll have — Redmont, how much time do we have?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shrugged. She had to bite her lip so that she wouldn't add anything less civil, but the words she muted seemed to write themselves on her expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought we'd go with just the Front members. Anyone else could easily become a liability."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We get</span>
  <em>
    <span> everyone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This isn't a point up for discussion," Santos shot back, face awash with something frightful. Blakely looked from him to her like a child torn between quarreling parents, only relaxing when Valerie nodded her surrender. She was no longer part of the Westmont section. It was bad form to stroll in and usurp Santos' authority, even if he only served as head in Mrs. Drakma's absence. Even if she disagreed. Heavily. "Good. That's that settled. Also, and not to take away from the main subject, what in the fuck happened to your hand?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Emergency damper removal, and give it a rest. I haven't had people comment on my lack of limbs this often since I was twenty. I’m not sure how to go about being sensitive about it anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely had gone ahead and broken out Pembroke the Cahean slayer, who was, predictably, asking questions. Good and understandable questions, but this was why they ought to pass on all who'd require debriefing. Explaining took time, and although Pembroke appeared to be taking it all rather well, there needed only be one captive too terrified to cooperate to cause the situation to tumble sideways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you have a plan?" Santos asked. "The blackout, was that your work?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More or less, and no. That was just . . . convenient." So convenient that it went past suspiciously convenient and therefore a likely trap, and rounded back to being a godsend. "Blakely was telling me about destroying the Ring of Tescara before you interrupted. Can you finish catching me up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That the spell network?" At her answering nod, Santos jerked his head towards Webber. "He had the inspired idea of triggering it on purpose, thinking it would fade if we drained its energy. I suppose you didn't get to see the east side of town?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got busy dealing with Sykes and company before I reached headquarters. Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> showed up . . ." Valerie pressed her eyes shut. "Let's just say it's been one of those days. I never went to the east side. Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Remember London after the bombings? That's about what it looks like." It was Webber who spoke, hoarsely, having come back to himself enough to participate. "Jo ransacked a dozen phone stores. I swear I'd never seen that woman look happier than she did hurling iPhones from Mrs. D's office window."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was tempting fate to ask, but Valerie couldn't help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is she around? Johanna?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We . . . don't know. She's not down here, but there's more levels. Then again, I don't recall her getting caught. Her brother, he’s—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sludge. Blakely said." And Valerie was determined to pretend he hadn't until later, when she could afford to let the hit land. "Draining it, obviously it didn't work, but why did it fail? Was it because the Ring came alive?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We failed because the enemy got us before we taxed it to the point of extinction, but we whittled down its lasting power to a few — </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Alive?"</span>
</p><p><span>"I'm assuming. It screamed at me, gives off angry toddler vibes – it just plain</span> <span>feels hateful."</span></p><p>
  <span>Webber shook his head, which didn't bode well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it's a living spell, it's impossible to drain. But, it can't be," he hastened to add, seeing her and Santos trade alarmed looks. "There was this one in Mexico. A bay where people had been drowning a bit too often. We got told that there was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the water, but not all the water. Only four square meters total. A local magician had been spelling the whole bay to do his fishing, and after his death, when the spell came alive, it shrunk to just that piece. They have to downsize to last past the caster's death. The Ring of Tescara wouldn't keep its original borders if it were living."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're sure about that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Quite. I may be worthless at practical magic, but I do know the field."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So if we finish the job, if we trigger and drain it, it should vanish and allow us to summon the cavalry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, in theory. Yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a communications room on the — what floor is this, does anyone . . ." Santos upheld and lowered both his hands twice. "—minus eighteen, alright. Cell blocks start at minus fifteen and lower, if there's been no reshuffling, and the comms room should be six floors up from there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mrs. Drakma was being kept somewhere down from where they stood, but that belonged in the realm of things she had to set aside if she wanted to get anything done. The woman was not in imminent danger, unless she'd irritated Jack to the point of him committing a blood crime. She'd be . . . she'd make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't like that face, Redmont."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't pick on my face. I'm thinking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're thinking of draining that spell by exploding the comms room." She'd forgotten that Santos had a gift for picking up on the direction of her thoughts like one predicted which way a river ran from the surrounding geography. Going from the look he wore, they were having a day of not being enamored with each other's ideas. "You know, odds are you'll bring the whole building down on our heads."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's six floors separating the comms room from the ones with a likelihood of containing people we want alive. Nine floors between it and this one. It's not guaranteed that it'll be enough of a buffer, but what other options are there? Do you want to try your luck fighting your way to the surface? Too many floors. One elevator, which those assholes will be watching like hawks. Too many people to get out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Those are points," Santos conceded. He hadn't stopped loathing the plan, Valerie could tell, but more so loathed that their options were rancid enough that this surfaced as the most viable. "So, best case scenario, you succeed and get a message out, or we get a message out after, and we hold off the enemy until help arrives. Worst case scenario, we get pulped, or starve or suffocate buried under rock, or we survive, but none of this works and they pick us off like sitting ducks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's the gist of it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is a shit plan," he sighed, but he was on board, however grudgingly, and already pondering ways of improving the shit plan's chances of success. "If we wreck the elevator, they have no way of getting to us once we secure this floor. Which we have to do before you go off, since we won't manage without you while unarmed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Obviously I'll help clear this floor first. You're more up to date on the staff lineup – are there any magic users other than the usual suspects?" The usual suspects being Kalidriapolos, who had specialized in healing to the detriment of offensive magic and skills like translocation, and one of the janitors, whose breadth of powers was constrained to basic water manipulation. Santos shook his head. Good. If the staff had no means of phasing there, that was one thing less to worry about. Although there was the hole in the ceiling to consider. If she and Byron had made one so easily . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie turned to ascertain how things went elsewhere in the room. Blakely had gathered a handful of people and was going about prying containers open. The group moved from one to the next both too fast and too slowly, not saying much to those inside other than a sentence to the effect of 'We're escaping'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see that easily going pear-shaped. Cries were already erupting as some freed captives called out for each other, and others cried out for someone to explain what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would not shoot Santos an </span>
  <em>
    <span>'If we have a riot or a mass panic attack on our hands within the next minute, it's on you</span>
  </em>
  <span>' look. It would be petty and of no help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still sorely tempted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Most of them can barely stand," Valerie stated, leaving off mention of Santos himself fitting that category. Doubtlessly it wouldn't go over well. "We'll need to split up those of us who can fight, leave some stationed here to watch over the ones we can't move . . ." Which brought on its own issues. She estimated the population of the room to be around five hundred, but if there were fifty people in fighting shape among them, she'd count herself lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me tackle the logistics. You gab some more with Webber and figure out if there's a way to lower the risk of us getting flattened by rubble." With that, Santos took his leave before she could argue that — actually, there was nothing to say that wouldn't be construed as a patronizing attempt to undermine him, so she could only pray that she wouldn't need to pick him off the floor. His posture was less stiff, so one could hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Er," Webber said, once Santos was a safe distance away. "I'm not sure the risk </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> be lowered."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was afraid you'd say that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In fact, going by what you described about the Ring's behavior, there may be additional risks involved."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> afraid you'd say that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not normal, even if it isn't living. We can't predict how it'll react to being triggered to the point of extinction. And there's another thing . . ." His eyes trained on her face with unexpected intensity. "Redmont. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>did you get here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Car. Don't start on how I should have flown or asked a magician, I'm kicking myself for that hard enough."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no. You're stationed in St. Louis, aren't you? How did you remember the way? That Westmont existed? Everyone who's on the outside had their ties with this place wiped out by the Ring when it was cast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie suddenly wanted to kick herself harder, because at no point had she stopped to consider that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mrs. Drakma, she called . . . it was a trap. Jack forced her to place that call. Not a hiccup in the line, nothing suspicious about it, only her being abstruse as usual, or so I'd assumed. I knew who she was. I knew the way to town, and I'd been thinking about . . . him, when the Ring would already have been active."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Could he have written an exception for you in the spell's makeup?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jack? Gods, no. It was Marabeth who cast it, and there's no earthly way she'd include a loophole for me even if he begged her on his knees." She turned the words over as they left her lips, eyebrows scrunching as she reviewed them, finding them accurate. "Communications between Tsikalayans could be exempt? I gather that she meant to continue handling business while still within the Ring. Hard to do that if no one outside remembers you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont. Got a moment?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely had returned. By now there were enough Front members and townies of exceptional ability to be useful in a crisis freeing people that few of the cells at ground level remained unopened. Some had even taken to the gangways and started on the ones in the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was going . . . well, Valerie had to concede. There was a handful of people running around like headless chickens, and many, many more were calling out names, asking where someone they knew was, demanding to be told what was happening. No screaming or stampeding, however, and on the whole they paid attention when Santos, animated by some force from unknown and frightening regions, went among them making a speech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Santos told me your plan. Hate it. You couldn't have come up with one that won't get us buried alive?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, I hate it as well. Still the best one we have. Even if we don't make it, it beats being worked slash raped to death."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely shook his head, an awkwardness creeping into his countenance and subsuming the concern already there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but . . . neither of those outcomes applies to you. I mean, it's easy for you to be all </span>
  <em>
    <span>'better dead on our own terms than stuck in Tentaclefuck Slavery World</span>
  </em>
  <span>', but you're not facing danger on the level we are. The guy now in charge has a thing for you. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>romantic</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm aware. I'm just not sure how that translates to 'you're in no danger of getting raped'." Valerie took no satisfaction from seeing the man flinch. Blakely fell into the disturbingly large portion of her colleagues who, despite having worked with her and hopefully being aware that she would not strangle or eat them, were made wary by any show of anger. And she was miffed. "Likewise, if you are implying that I could come up with something less dangerous if my personal safety were more at stake? Once this floor is clear and you are armed and organized enough to withstand a siege, I'm off to set off an explosion of unknown magnitude. If you're concerned about your chances down here, think a bit of where I'll be standing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely obviously had not considered that, and made a suitably apologetic sound. Webber, however, looked struck, as if he too had only now realized that her task fit under the umbrella of suicide mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, then." Best to move forward before the two could dwell on it much. She wasn't doing it, so why should they? "Is Hill around? I recall that he was good at computer stuff, and I need an IT person in case the systems are protected."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely made a vague yet telling gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He. Er."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah." Valerie avoided staring at the left side of the room, where Santos did crowd management like their lives depended on it. She didn't want to scan the faces and find out who was missing. Notice the people who'd crumbled to the floor upon release and not gotten up, or the ones wearing looks that suggested that they'd shot past hysteria a long time ago. "See if you can find someone. With hacking skills, ideally."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure. Should it be mentioned that—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The whole '</span>
  <em>
    <span>you're likely to die a horrible fiery death</span>
  </em>
  <span>' portion? Yes, of course you don't leave that out. Check if Byron has a phone on him, too. We're short on weapons and it'll make for a passable grenade."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The waste of space over there. And there." Valerie waved over her shoulder, causing both men to curl their lips with disgust. "Go. I need to check how much headway Santos is making."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made to move past Blakely, but Webber's hand on her arm stopped her. He'd worked up the strength to leave the container, and although his countenance had yet to move away from sickish, he looked on edge more than he did anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait. Wait a minute. I could be wrong about the Ring. It could be living and not let itself be drained. Which would leave you dead and us stuck underground, still with no way to call reinforcements." That had been a risk accounted for in the plan since Santos had plucked it from her mind and laid it out. Valerie wasn't certain why Webber felt she needed a reminder of how much room there was for all to literally blow up in their faces. Until he went on. "You could remember Westmont while on the outside. There's a good chance you will still if you get out. So do that, get us backup and let me handle the Ring, since we still need that explosion to keep the enemy busy. I'll change my face — I can do a passable Ki-laar impression — and sneak past them all without having to fight them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're assuming," Valerie said, cursing the fact that there was no one she could contact to test her theory about what made phone calls possible. "You can't know that you won't be found out, and if you are? You've never been a fighter, Webber. You have no healing factor; if they aim to kill you, they will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this a kinder rejection than stating flat out that she didn't trust anyone but herself to handle the matter? Likely not. She still wouldn't walk it back. If she made it out but Webber failed to trigger the Ring, Jack and the staff could concentrate on retaking the floor, without having suffered major losses or needing to deal with a partially collapsed building. With them also having a world gate at their disposal, she might not get reinforcements there in time to stop everyone from getting dispatched to Barashi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To borrow Santos' line, this isn't a point up for discussion. And I do need to talk with him, so if you'll excuse me . . ." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Employing Webber's shape-shifting to catch the enemy off guard was an idea, though. Valerie was still kicking options around when she neared Santos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had succumbed to a coughing fit on the last leg of his speech. Surely it had been one poignant and well phrased nonetheless. Santos was an excellent public speaker. People who'd been freed early enough to catch most of it appeared . . . not any less terrified, but at least no longer mindlessly terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Status?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've split up everyone who's out. These are yours." Santos motioned at a group of men clustered on his right. It looked to be the smallest group out of three. Except for one younger pair, they were known to her. Pierce, Gilmore, Fulton, Barrera, grayer and more wrinkled than in her memories. They'd hadn't been close back in the day, but she knew them capable. Pembroke got their number up to seven. "You head out first, I'll follow with my lot. The rest are staying here to finish breaking open caskets, protect those who need it, and mind that hole up there. Objections?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"None. I'm taking Webber too, though, so I'll need to grab him. And then wait until Blakely gets back to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Finding me a hacker with suicidal tendencies."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Santos sighed in a '</span>
  <em>
    <span>I knew it was going to be something like that and was still dumb enough to ask</span>
  </em>
  <span>' way that Valerie hadn't realized how much she'd missed. The St. Louis section was a young one, and she didn't spend enough time there for the people she was nominally in charge of to feel comfortable calling her insane to her face. Santos had been at that level since the day they'd met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> that would be it. LADIES. GENTS." He turned to address everyone, and all but her small entourage jumped. "This is Valerie Redmont, leader of another chapter of the paramilitary alien fighting squad I just debriefed you about. Yes, she needs a shower, but don't we all. No, don't ask what happened to her other hand . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blakely came by as Santos finished introductions and dredged up a few weak snatches of laughter from the assembly. He came accompanied by a red-faced young man with tousled brown hair, who, by appearance and demeanor, instantly put Valerie in mind of an overeager golden retriever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont, Horton, Horton, Redmont. He's a . . . I'm drawing a blank. Tech thing. Anyhow, he hacks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mike, please," the other enthused, which, never in darkness. In the last twenty-five years Valerie hadn't been on a first name basis with anyone male, unless they were ostensibly not attracted to women or someone she would like dead. Surnames meant distance. Distance lessened their risk of getting murdered by a possessive psychopath with no sense of boundaries. Horton it was. "I'm a software developer. Thank you so much for this opportunity!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shot Blakely a politely inquiring glance. He threw up his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I swear I stressed the suicide mission aspect!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you do it enough, though? Did you mention that there is a chance larger than zero that he'll have his flesh flayed off his bones by stone getting spat around? That he'll get interred in fire whilst still living?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck's sake, Redmont, </span>
  </em>
  <span>take morale out back and shoot it, why don't you?" Santos snapped. True enough, that was not the thing to say in front of a group of people whom he had just exerted himself trying to infuse with a seed of optimism. The man did do a double take when he turned to glower at her and saw Horton for the first time, the other busy beaming, a stiff, plastic smile on his lips. Santos appeared as unsettled by the sight as Valerie felt. "Jesus, kid. Are you even legal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to grab Webber," she cut in, while Horton shrugged helplessly. Santos gave her another pointed look, like he'd just remembered that he'd forgotten to ask what she needed Webber for and couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to rectify the oversight. Valerie shook her head. "You don't want to know. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>perverse</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waved her off with a resigned sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know about this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can do the face, but my Barashnik is rusty and I'm sure I didn't get the song right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sounds oily enough to pass. Just speak English with a New York-ish accent, drop f-bombs every two words, swear by Astara and keep your hands in your pockets, and you'll be golden. You're impersonating Sir Always-Getting-Captured, no one will question this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The shoes, though! What if someone notices—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They'll assume I'm just that spiteful. Or that I have a thing for feet. Webber, gods above, </span>
  <em>
    <span>relax</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I knew it was a mistake to come out of retirement.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are what now, one hundred and fifty? That's too young to retire either way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know my life expectancy!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honestly, who does?" Valerie pushed an automatic door, which slid open without complaint. She tensed at the sight of a camera, then eased once she'd appraised it and made sure it neither blinked nor swiveled around its center point. She nevertheless pushed Webber onwards with an arm wrapped around his neck. A precaution, in case the device wasn't as dead as it appeared. All cameras they'd encountered along the way had been, but there was no such thing as being too careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power outage had simplified everything. Until two hallways ago, she'd moved ahead of the others, scouting for staff. There'd been a few Ki-laar. A handful of Caheans, more of a challenge yet ultimately dispatched. They were a tough species, scoring as high as Cyniheans in strength. No tentacles, however, and no healing factor, and they were big, which made them slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had replaced her empty blaster with a charged one taken off one of the corpses. She hadn't bothered to get their clothes, hoping that the rest of the group would help itself in her stead. They needed full body armor more than she did, and although Webber now wore what she'd stolen from Nick, at least she still had her underwear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn't broken pace when the notes of one blood song echoed forth, figuring that she could manage a single Tsikalayan staff member without resorting to the decoy strategy. Only when the song was joined by another did she double back to confer with the others and get Webber. The men, she’d discovered, had followed in her footsteps and ransacked the dead she'd left strew along the way. Finding them dressed came as a relief. She was desensitized to nudity for the most part, but in a place like the Mayfly, it served as a shorthand for vulnerability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like you're about to throw up," she whispered, rounding the corner. Just another corridor. The songs rang louder, almost causing her to miss a third that joined them. Not Jack's, thankfully, nor Nick's. The latter would have been catastrophic. Webber was already having a hard time keeping it together. Good thing that she hadn't entertained the thought of letting him tackle the Ring. "Not a criticism, it's in character. Just unnecessary. We only need to distract them long enough for the others to sneak up. One minute. You can manage that."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Ngh,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Webber said back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie shook her head, schooled her features into something more foreboding and pushed her fake hostage ahead. Webber swore, either because he shared her feelings about the sight that met them or because he was trying to be sufficiently Nick-like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her exceptionally sneaky song mustn't have given the enemy more than a few moments of warning, but they had mined them for all they were worth. A network of tentacles knotted together from ceiling to floor so that the way was blocked by coral streaked with black. Axis and Rem, although the rest of Rem must be standing on the other side of the obstruction. The third, softer song didn't come from anyone Valerie could see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont," Axis, who had never been her favorite member of the goon squad but was on his way to earning the title of most irritating, greeted. The toothsome grin he'd broken into slid off his face when he saw Webber-in-disguise, replaced by disbelief. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you shitting me</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Can't you go ten godsdamned minutes without getting captured?!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not my fault!" Webber complained, in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> New York accent, but whinily enough that the slip went unnoticed. Valerie clamped a hand over his mouth to save them from having to be so lucky twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all she had time to do before a third person dropped behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tentacles exploded, backwards, else they'd have taken her face off at such close quarters. Instead, they sealed the other end of the corridor. Valerie retreated from the wall of limbs, placing herself closer to Axis. There was no helping it; either she found a midway point between the two men, or remained within Kalidriapolos' reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice," she drawled, glancing at the hole in the ceiling. Not only had they gotten one over her, but they'd ripped a page from her playbook to do it. "Now get out of the way before I tear off his head."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Webber looked appropriately terrified. Axis regarded them both, lips pressed together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cicerny, I like you, and all." Something about his tone was off. Heavy, for what words were spoken. That ought to have been her first warning. "I'm not doing this a second time today, though. Byron hasn't been answering his phone since he came down, and who knows where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>boss</span>
  </em>
  <span> has gotten himself to. She's going to kill every man and creature on staff if we don't do something, so look, I'm sorry, I am, but right now—"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit, shit, no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"—it's either you or all of us," Axis concluded, whipping out a pistol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would happen flashed before Valerie's eyes like a premonition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was turning before she could think, before it occurred to her to wonder why Axis wouldn’t go for the blaster, knowing as he did that she was immune to regular silver. She placed herself so that she'd shield Webber. She felt the barely there sting of </span>
  <em>
    <span>one two three four</span>
  </em>
  <span> hits to the chest, going so fast that they slipped through her ribs with little notice, pain registering as an afterthought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the . . ." Axis, for some reason, looked horrified. Then he gathered his wits and did grab the blaster. Valerie scraped up the presence of mind to duck and take Webber alongside her. He slumped over her back, his hands grabbing at her shoulders, sliding down her arms when he lost his hold on her, air leaving him in a huge shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie turned to stop him from falling and shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That blood on him was much too purple to be hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magic thick in the air, the recoil preceding another discharge. Axis aimed again, no longer full of horror but dawning understanding. Nick's features melted off Webber's face while he pressed a shaking hand against the wounds. The bullets had gone clean through her, Valerie noted. Coldly, because once she started seeing the world tinted red around the corners, the part of her where feelings lived checked out. They had gone clean through her, because they'd been meant to go clean through Nick and fly onward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The point of that? She'd let it matter later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue flares in the corner of her eye, target ahead. She stretched her mouth in the opposite of a smile, bones switching places and better teeth coming in. Blue flares everywhere, now. Behind Axis, Rem screamed in alarm. She had no eyes for him. She lived in the space wherein all things soft about her were subsumed by a fury that burned like dry ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone called her name — Barrera? Pierce? There was such an abundance of sound and the roaring in her head was deafening, so whoever it was, Valerie ignored them. Axis was upon her or she upon him, the difference a matter of semantics. She wasn't sure which of them was shouting </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Diediedie!' </span>
  </em>
  <span>the loudest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed her headfirst into the wall. She reeled back and kicked him in the crotch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Man, get out of there! Fall back! Axis!" Valerie only dimly registered Rem's screaming. "I can't aim if you're rolling in the way of — darkness take it!" And those were his last words, for a moment later a blast coming from the opposite side, and which narrowly missed Valerie herself, sent him to the floor, where he writhed, wreathed in blue flames, until all motion ceased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Axis yelled something indiscernible and looked twice as hateful, a feat in itself. He wrestled her to the tiles. The nozzle of the blaster pressed against her forehead. His lip curled, and although his expression was more one of relief than of smugness, there was smugness there. Was there ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My condolences to whichever god gets to guide you, you vile bitch!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he was, abruptly, gone. Just gone, up into the air, one moment about to do her in, the next dangling from a tentacle he'd slung like a grappling hook through the hole in the ceiling. He got himself out of the way a fraction of a second before a landslide of blasts scorched the place where his feet had hung and his head would have been if he hadn't moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stared at the blue fire passing overhead and sighed, the crimson edges receding from her sight. That had been too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Redmont. You okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine. Help Webber." She drew herself to a sitting position and surveyed the destruction first, the bodies last. Scorch marks on every wall; it was sheer dumb luck that she hadn't been hit. Axis had disappeared onto the floor above, Rem was one hundred percent a goner, and Kalidriapolos, who'd been taken out without her noticing, lay on the ground too, stunned but still breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, following the adrenaline kick of going berserk, there came the slump. She stumbled towards Pierce and Fulton, who were convincing as much of Webber's blood as they could to stay where it belonged. Valerie slipped a hand in between their arms to retrieve the vial of paxpernia she'd left in his breast pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Webber tried to say something. Three mouths shushed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hang in there, Webbs."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hang in there </span>
  <em>
    <span>three more minutes at least</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Valerie urged, remembering how long it had taken for those she had blasted on stun during the alley standoff to rise. It felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. She turned to the two younger Front members, who had self-assigned themselves to corpse robbing duty. "You — sorry, I forgot your names, you with brown hair and your friend with the nose! Leave the weapons for Santos' group, they need to be armed more than we need the extras. That pistol over there, though. Hand it here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brown-haired Front member tossed it over. She emptied the cylinder on her palm, picked one piece of ammunition apart and swore aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that?" The question came from Horton, who had stuck to the sidelines and only now wandered in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Full metal jacket bullets. Steel encasement, red silver core." Which meant nothing to the human asking, but caused Valerie to suppress a shudder. Weapons like this were forbidden on Barashi and any world on which Tsikalayans had a say. If it had been her standing behind Webber, if she'd left those things lodged inside her longer than a minute, if one of them had caught on a rib or worse, gotten stuck inside her skull . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kalidriapolos made a sound, stopping her from musing on how close she'd come to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked over, while he caught wind of his position and made as if no noise had been produced. False alarm, no one at home yet. Nonsense she had neither time nor patience for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She delivered a sharp kick to his ribs, settled over him and attempted to pry his mouth open. Predictably but annoyingly, he responded by trying to strangle her. She socked him and squashed his windpipe with her forearm, feeling the absence of her other hand dearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't blast him!" she warned, since it looked as if Pembroke had been about to try. Commendable instincts, wrong moment. Webber couldn't wait for Kalidriapolos to come around a second time. "Take this, dump it down his throat once I open — </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, screw you too, fuckwad!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" It was a chore to get the Tsikalayan under control and make him swallow the paxpernia even with another pair of hands helping, but between her putting her all in holding him down and Pembroke kicking him in the mouth a few times, they managed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you—" Kalidriapolos sputtered, once she let up enough for him to speak. "—want?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So very glad you asked." Valerie detached him from the ground and pushed him towards the corner where Fulton and Pierce fussed over an increasingly greener Webber. "Do something good for someone for once in your miserable existence and heal him. Properly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>What in darkness is that thing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" She stopped short of giving him a concussion, remembering belatedly that with the paxpernia, punching Kalidriapolos in the head might kill him before she'd exhausted his use. She had no compunctions about twisting his arm, however, when he followed up with, "Why would I do that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's how you get to keep your limbs attached." When that wasn't enough to persuade him, Valerie twisted harder and clawed deep into his wrist. "Don't get me started on all the ways I could kill you. It's a long list, and I don't have the time, he doesn't have the time, and you are running out of it fast. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heal him</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kept the business end of the blaster pointed at his nape while he worked. Waited until the bullets were out, the flesh sealed, the whiff of magic faded from the air. Waited until Webber no longer looked like he might expire between breaths. Waited for the pale shade of a smile to manifest on his features as they rippled and rearranged themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she waited for him and the others to stop staring once she'd discharged the blaster in Kalidriapolos' neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pierce raised a wary hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>". . . was that set to stun?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." She saw him and Barrera exchanging looks and shrugged. "I only said I wouldn't dismember him. I never promised I'd let him live."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Couldn’t we have used those skills of his later?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He’s security, not a weak-kneed accountant, or whatever it is Nicolai actually does. If we'd taken him and ran into more trouble, he'd have wrung someone's neck in the time it takes to spit."</span>
  <em>
    <span> And I'm done giving this rabid bunch of animals chances they can exploit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> went unsaid. "Are you good to go, Webber?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will do." There was still no color to his smile, but he'd gotten up and remained standing, so Valerie elected to believe him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then let’s keep moving. I want two of you watching the ceiling from here on out." They weren't close to through with the Tsikalayan staff members, and she wouldn't bet on Axis not coming back for a rematch. A sufficient number of Caheans or even Ki-laar dropping in on them unexpectedly could likewise present a danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had set out without a destination, only the goal of neutralizing as many enemies and collecting as many weapons as they could, but as they distanced themselves from the holding room, the words Santos had spoken in his container returned to her, thrashing around her brain with unprecedented viciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had nowhere concrete to be. They might as well head south.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barrera led, being a veteran of many a Mayfly break in and, unlike her, in possession of a sixth sense that let him tell where on the floor they found themselves. Talking didn't happen except between Horton, who asked a headache-inducing amount of questions, and Webber, who'd taken on the thankless job of answering him. Valerie had been paying them crumbs of attention, until '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are the tentacle monster aliens related to Cthulhu?</span>
  </em>
  <span>' made her decide that for her own sanity, she was better off deaf to anything coming from that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think . . ." Barrera halted, studying a row of doors spreading out before them. He counted under his breath before pointing. "That one, unless I'm misremembering."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright. I'll go in first. Follow only if I call you, shout if you need me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What greeted Valerie on the other side was a white room and the appearance of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ambled past the tables, the torture paraphernalia on the walls confirming that yes, it was like every training room she had ever seen. Having been in a hundred of them, what became unsettling about these spaces was their sameness. Somewhere on Barashi there was bound to exist an IKEA equivalent where trade bosses went, pointed at room set displays and ordered</span>
  <em>
    <span> 'fifty just like that one, but in the company's colors'</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><span>Listening closer, it wasn't truly silent in there. There was an odd </span><em><span>schlep schlep schlep </span></em><span>sound</span> <span>ongoing, almost but not fully blending in with the quiet. Valerie couldn't determine what produced it, except that the liquid quality it possessed differed from that of blood dripping or gushing. It came from another section, accessible by a curtain covered entrance.</span></p><p>
  <span>She faltered when she realized that although what she heard still didn't sound like blood, she could smell a coppery tang in the air. If she didn't pull the curtain aside now, she’d talk herself out of doing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four captives, all women — no, wrong. The last one on the left was male. She hadn't been able to tell at first glance for reasons that brought her close to retching. None appeared aware of her presence, or conscious to begin with. She forced her eyes away before they moved to their faces, afraid that recognition would kick in and paralyze her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise . . . she’d rather not have learned its origin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike the bright room that preceded it, this one was dipped in shadow, the sole light coming from a wall lamp, filtered through a piece of gauzy red cloth draped over it. Someone, or several someones, had taken the initiative to make it comfy. They'd hung an incredibly tasteless painting. Replaced the storage counters with a modular sofa in black leather, one so wide across that it was more accurately classified as a modular bed. Bolt holes marked the spots where if she took the other room as a template, the tables would have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprised her that no one had thought to add a rug or two, but they might have reasoned that those would stain too fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machines were still working. Silent in themselves, but perpetuating that awful sound as they went in and out and in again. Battery operated, to not have been affected by the blackout, Valerie thought. Other than that, there wasn't much left in her head that was rational. Only formless rage, cutting and uneven as a storm of glass shards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She neared the woman laid out where the arm of the couch met the wall. She didn't let herself look at the face as she turned off the machine pumping in and out of the prone body, and eased it back so that the steel shaft would slide out with the least amount of pain. The other machine she treated the same way, although the woman it ravaged felt ice cold to the touch. The man was dead too. She didn't need to look too closely at him to be sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ms. Redmont? You alright in there?</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Darkness beyond, I told you to stay outside!" She skipped back and moved to the other side of the curtain, holding it in place to shield the bodies from prying eyes. Pembroke had entered the adjacent room, tailed by a contrite looking Gilmore. The others dripped in one after another, even Horton, although with everyone else inside, it would admittedly have been unconscionable to leave him elsewhere. “Follow only if I call, what part of that—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We called," Gilmore said. "You weren't answering."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd been so far away from the world that she hadn't heard them, Valerie supposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine. Search the storage spaces, find medical supplies." Barrera's remark about how Kalidriapolos could have turned out useful tumbled through her skull like a haunting. "I'll need . . . you, Pierce, and Fulton, and you on the right if you have a strong stomach, to help me . . . see to them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He on the right didn't possess a strong stomach. Webber replaced him while the man sat on the other side of the curtain with his head between his knees. Fulton checked the man's pulse, for the sake of being thorough. Valerie did the same with the woman she'd preemptively declared dead, finding herself correct. The third one in the alignment was still alive, however. Pierce, who unless Valerie misremembered had legitimate medical training, hovered over her with a look that suggested that something could be done there. The last . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie took Maria’s arm. Her own heart felt closer to her mouth than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beat</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Pause. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Longer pause — </span>
  <em>
    <span>beat.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pause. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It went on at a steady enough rhythm that Valerie stopped fearing it would fade each time it stuttered. She carefully laid the arm back, aware that it was time, that she’d run out of excuses to avoid looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I spoke at your wedding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was the thought that rose from nowhere as she took in the new lines that, for once, were not the most disturbing part of reviewing a human acquaintance after years of no in-person contact. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can't remember what I said, or what anyone else said. Just Blakely, because his bit was short and because he asked why it had taken the two of you so long to get together. We'd been wondering that for years, so we laughed. You laughed too, the hardest out of everyone. You both looked so happy . . .</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There were chains on her still, which Valerie broke in haste. Blood and detached tissue stuck under her nails, evidence that she had fought back, the first and only finding that triggered a somber smile. Bruises all over her shoulders and neck, abstract patterns in blue and black that climbed up calves and thighs at places where too strong hands had held on too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maria had, within the confines of what fortune was allowed to someone put through what she'd gone through, been </span>
  <em>
    <span>lucky.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was bloating and bruising suggestive of internal bleeding, but nothing hung outside that should be tucked in her midsection. The dead man hadn't fared so well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest, however . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pierce, toss me that." A pack of gauze sponges sailed into Valerie's waiting hand. She had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>push</span>
  </em>
  <span> most of the blood off, as there was too much to absorb and she didn't want to risk causing further injury by moving Maria onto her side to let it run down. It was old, though. The gash didn't refill. She stuffed it with the gauze and was about to ask Pierce for a bandage roll when a distant rumble sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every man in the room jumped. Uncertain looks were traded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Was that—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Valerie wouldn't have admitted aloud that she was glad to leave, but something in her chest came loose as she bolted off the leather deathbed. "Webber, finish bandaging her. Horton, with me!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me?" The latter's voice sounded from somewhere behind the curtain. She tore past it before he could come through, pulling him a safe distance away from sights that would give him a lifetime of nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not sure if I'll have a chance to pick you up later, so yes, we're sticking together. Don't forget your blaster. Everyone else, stay here, keep these women alive, protect yourselves. I'll send someone back for you if I can." And if the worst had not come to pass. Those would make for poor parting words, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hauled Horton with her and broke into a run once they were in the corridor, forcing him to hurry to keep up. It had the advantage of not allowing for conversations more elaborate than '</span>
  <em>
    <span>This way</span>
  </em>
  <span>!' and adjacent advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let her nose be her guide, taking whichever direction the smell of burned flesh wafted from the strongest. She could tell when they reached a part of the floor they hadn't passed through before, because although the hallway was as nondescript as the rest, the body that Horton nearly broke his nose tripping over hadn't been left there by them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Human," she murmured, sending off a quick prayer before turning her attention to the others scattered ahead. Some Ki-laar. Two Caheans. Too many humans. No weapons left, so the survivors had ransacked the dead before moving on. That at least was encouraging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Proceeding into the next hallway almost saw their heads blasted off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blakely, what the hell! Hold fire!" It had been a close call, but she'd tackled Horton in time. Valerie rolled back to her feet and scowled at the man, who shrugged as he lowered the blaster. Looking past him, she saw more bodies and a pillage in progress. Looking past that . . . "You — are you kidding? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You already blew up the—</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't my idea! There was one of your lot inside, we didn't have a choice!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie stopped her eyes from continuing to bug out at the stellar job they'd done of wrecking the elevator beyond salvation. She narrowed them instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which one of them?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not your boyfriend, if that's what you're worried about."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blakely.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, fine! The squinty one. If you want to lay into someone for this, go yell at Santos. He was the one who—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since nothing in the known worlds could have persuaded Valerie to lay into Santos when she'd left his wife in the state she had, she scowled at Blakely and walked off, dismissing Horton when he attempted to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Santos stood by the smashed elevator, surveying the destruction. It was an impressive amount for the resources they’d had. Inconvenient, but impressive. The doors swung loosely from the frame. The car, which she'd counted on having chunks missing but still being in place, was a smoking ruin resting at the bottom of the shaft. The connecting cables swung gently back and forth, untethered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You found Maria, and she's not . . . doing great," Santos intoned, as Valerie came to a stop beside him. His face showcased a complicated medley of emotions. He sighed before answering the unspoken question, motioning at the elevator-that-had-been. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hold off on complaining about that. For the record, it was Blakely who did it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think we should play blame tennis right now. She . . . she</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> alive."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But how badly — no, never mind. Don't tell me. I'll see when I see her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be. I am. Should be. I didn’t know it’d happen like this. That we’d . . .” Santos let the sentence die. Valerie waited for him to suck in a breath, rake fingers through his hair, be done telling himself that they faced issues outweighing his personal concerns, and that those were what he ought to concentrate on. She’d witnessed him pulling off similar levels of self-abnegation in the past. It wasn’t surprising that this time he failed, and she was glad of it. Had he succeeded, she’d have believed him a better leader, but a worse man. He continued to try even so, managing to sound slightly less scattered when he spoke again. “They took her last night. You’re not completely out of it when they stick you inside those boxes, not the whole time. Sedated, but you can still catch snatches of what’s happening around you. I heard her — I heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>them.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was all I could do in there: listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was nothing you could have done.” Valerie cringed as the words rolled off her tongue. She must be mad to say them as though they’d provide comfort. There hadn’t been one occasion where someone had bleated equivalent platitudes at her that she hadn’t wanted to sock the speaker in the mouth. And yet she couldn’t help but add: “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, none of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I should have asked better questions. Doubted, done more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t agree, but I’m aware that there is no point in arguing.” Attempting to do so with someone addicted to faulting himself for every fresh disaster stood a greater chance of seeing her pushed down the elevator shaft than of convincing Santos to stop self-loathing. Her remark made the man’s jaw set tighter. Valerie suspected that he would rather have taken a dressing down over a concession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s done now,” he sighed, after another stretch of staring at the wrecked elevator. His gaze tracked the wisps of smoke rising from it as though he might divine the shape of the future in the patterns they formed. He shook his head and trained his eyes higher, the strain in his face easing as he found success where he’d failed before. Santos had boxes in his head, same as she did, in which less useful thoughts were kept to be broken up over later. Valerie imagined that, as he turned to her, he placed a lid on the box labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maria.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “We should work on getting you up.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what kind of alien are — wait, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> an alien, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Different people reacted differently when thrust into hell. Some were consumed until nothing remained, some just barely bore the heat, some waltzed through the flames. Coping mechanisms varied along similar lines. One wore the masks one had to in order to retain a semblance of sanity. Valerie had no grounds on which to judge how Mike Horton made himself deal, and therefore she passed no judgment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did wish that trauma had done something other than regress the young man into an inquisitive five year old. That, and that he’d tone down the cheeriness. There were no reasons to be cheerful anywhere within a fifty mile radius. Which meant that he was faking it, and it disturbed her beyond measure that he faked so seamlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Horton disturbed her in general. People who displayed a great willingness to die generally did. Valerie recognized the hypocrisy there, but refused to engage with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she replied, hoping her tiredness came across and deterred him from pressing for more. It had been a barrage of questions since they’d emerged from the elevator shaft. Valerie might start yearning for them to get attacked if it were to continue. She didn’t have Webber’s patience. Or much of her own left at this stage. “What gave it away? Was it the teeth, the claws, or the kicking down solid metal doors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching floor six minus had been no picnic. Four Front members had been enlisted in helping improvise a pulley system, using the marooned rope wire dangling inside the elevator shaft. Horton had been bound to her back with more cables and told to grab onto her shoulders, so that she wouldn’t waste the single hand at her disposal holding him. Latching onto and scaling the guide rail would have been impossible using only her feet. The ropes, pulled and maneuvered by the men on the ground, did two thirds of the heavy lifting and provided a safety net in case her grip faltered, but it was up to her to steer both herself and her passenger as they bypassed every new floor, one sealed metal door at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole time — and it had taken a horrendously long time, for what it was — Valerie had feared that doom would come from above. Below. Sideways, blue fire and tentacles coming through the walls when she had limited room to defend either herself or her tagalong human. The worst to happen, however, was that Horton turned out to be terrified of heights and came close to tearing himself loose from her in his panic. Which had come as a relief despite being the opposite of helpful, since it meant that there was still a will to live residing somewhere behind that lightbulb smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie had been starting to wonder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry, I was just asking in case . . .” Horton eyed her arm that still had a hand attached as if it were of greater interest than the one that didn’t, which puzzled her until she realized what he was checking for. Sighing, Valerie splayed her fingers and turned her palm both ways, showing off its lack of webbing. “So is that a gender thing, or are you a different species from Jim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who? Oh, Webber. Yes. Different species.” Hopefully that was as far as she’d need to get into the subject. She wouldn’t have minded if the questions were relevant — no, lie. Even if they had been, she’d still rather have no questions of whatever nature diverting her mind from the matters it wanted to obsess over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are—” It was hard not to rejoice when turning the corner put them face to face with a Cahean squad, because it meant that Valerie didn’t have to reply, and that she could unload the wealth of rage she’d been hoarding since leaving the training room behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was less happy when they didn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> all </span>
  </em>
  <span>turn out to be Caheans. She heard Horton scream. Since he hadn’t used words, releasing a warbled ‘WHah-ah!’ that wasn’t readily comprehensible as the warning it meant to be, she turned to check on him rather than ducking like she ought to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part wasn’t getting a tentacle smack in the face. The worst part was the trail of slime left in its wake. Among the reasons why Enneads came second in Valerie’s private ranking of species she’d rather not tangle with, their penchant for oozing everywhere during a fight was inconsequential in terms of risk, but did nothing to endear them to her. She stumbled back, thanking all those dead Ki-laar for the blaster in her hand. She’d hate to have to bite through squirming slime dispensers for the second time in as many days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s he?” Horton asked once the dust settled, gesturing at the dead Ennead whilst moving out of the corner where he’d been huddled while she went through their attackers. He’s shot one of the Caheans with his own blaster while she was otherwise occupied, which Valerie had been pleasantly surprised by. Enough that she provided a more complete answer than she would have otherwise. Horton looked thoughtful. “Does that mean that some hentai is based on factual stories?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sharing my opinion on that subject.” And that was her temporary tolerance exhausted. Valerie made to wipe her face before it got through to her that she didn’t have a sleeve to wipe it with. She managed to get most of the slime with her hand and rubbed it off on the wall, but enough remained to make her skin itch. Whatever one might say about her own species, their extra limbs were dry unless they put in effort to make them otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horton went a whole minute without saying anything. Valerie was less concerned that she’d been too short with him than she was grateful for the silence. Once it settled, her thoughts flew to where they’d been straining to head since she’d stood in the gloom of that red tinted light. Two dead, while the others . . . not to mention the uncertainty of how many bodies had been cleared from that room since the takeover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had Jack to blame. Once again, she couldn’t believe she was thinking it, but what she’d witnessed wouldn’t have happened with his aunt in charge. Marabeth profited off the ruin of </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span> people. Under her, there had been a strictly enforced hands-off-the-merchandise policy. Staff members weren’t allowed to use prisoners to the point where they lay with their guts out, and certainly not to leave them like that overnight. Waste of human resources, not to mention unsanitary. They’d have gotten the retail price docked off their wages for a stunt like that, if they weren’t fired outright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t run as tight a ship, that much was clear from the fact that his men tried to kill her whenever he turned his back. She would not, refused to excuse him, but couldn’t help but wonder about the why. Bog standard ineptitude? Not caring enough to do a competent job? He’d claimed not wanting to tank the company as his reason for refusing to let go of Westmont, so Valerie would appreciate the irony if it were the first option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second, however, would feel like a slap in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I, uh, can I ask you something?” Horton piped up. Valerie, startled both by having to pause her musings and by him for once asking if he was allowed a question, nodded before she could think better of it. “Okay. So. This isn't really a suicide mission, is it? Because you’re too calm. If you were actually, for real, planning for us to blow up, you wouldn’t be this calm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie thought that Horton must have a rather unconventional concept of what a calm person looked like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How calm I appear to be is an atrocious metric for measuring danger. This way.” Floor minus six lacked the ubiquitous subdivisions into cell blocks and training rooms, making it difficult but possible to hold on to a sense of direction. There was a communal office space that resembled a primary school classroom with taller desks and chairs. A wall of drawers — Ki-laar sleeping compartments — that put Valerie in mind of a morgue. Horton, of course, asked about those, acting like he’d forgotten about the question she’d danced around answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sort of feel sorry for them,” he admitted, as Valerie finished explaining and pulled a door open. It had to be the right one, since there weren’t any others left. “The box they stuck me in was bigger than those are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie paused midway through ushering him in, so briefly that the stutter of movement went unnoticed. She stood back, having already determined the room to be empty, while Horton took in the jungle of plastic and circuitry. Valerie kept her eyes on his back as he skipped around, willing away the echoes of dead people and the ghosts that came to perch on the human’s shoulders the longer she stared. He appeared dismayed as he stopped in front of a wall panel covered with switches, knobs and lights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This hardware is ancient. Look here — vacuum tubes! Those haven’t been used since the sixties!” Horton went on muttering as he messed with the switches. Having no clue what he was on about, Valerie left him to it, working up nervous energy by the exit until he made a sound that hinted at success. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good news. Most of the vintage tech is just for the look of the thing.” He pressed a button which to Valerie looked identical to the others in the lineup. The hissing of a fan drowned the room and a screen came on at their left. Horton looked extremely pleased. “I just need to find out which of these terminals is connected to that. It does look like it’s password protected, so it’s going to take me a bit to get in without using third party programs. You need to access your email and that’s all, right? Okay. Give me a minute . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie returned to her spot by the door and wondered how the Front fared down below. They’d been on track to weed out the last pockets of staff when she’d left, but she worried. Almost as much as she worried about Jack’s whereabouts. Axis had said that they couldn’t find him either, and what to make of that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing good, surely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By minute three — she’d been keeping track in her head down to the second — Horton had commandeered a keyboard, turned the screen into a wall of text and complained about Vista users under his breath, but made no progress that Valerie could see. She bit her tongue until they crossed the four minute mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you estimate how long it . . .” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One second! Well, five.” It took him twenty, so there was consistency there at least. Valerie hovered like an overzealous shoulder devil, unable to help herself, and lurched over him to type the second he brought up her email provider. She punched in two lines and copied them into a dozen new message fields, all addressed to the Liberation Front’s global mailing list. Horton, who’d bent forward so that he wouldn’t get in her way, issued a strangled exclamation when he looked up and saw what she was doing. “Delayed delivery! See, I knew you weren’t serious about the whole—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We still don’t have amazing odds of making it out of this in one piece. I’m scheduling the first to send in five minutes, the next ones each a minute after the last. That should give us time to run back and drop down the elevator.” Valerie rubbed her forehead, thinking whether it wouldn’t be better to up the time and ultimately deciding against it. It’d mean leaving a wider window open for someone to throw a spanner in the works, whether up here or down below. She hit send on the last email and stood. “Out of curiosity, would you have come if you hadn’t been sure that calling this a suicide mission was overselling it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believed it was for real when that guy asked for a volunteer. I just realized it wasn’t because you were super over the top with the fire and the flaying speech.” If that was the benchmark, Valerie supposed she could give up hope of him ever taking her seriously. “But I think, I do think I’d still have been here anyway. Even if.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A song erupted overhead before he could reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eesh!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Horton exclaimed, covering his ears. Valerie gaped at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How in darkness are you able to hear a . . .” Then she realized that the tune was loud in a way no blood song would be, and came with lyrics, and realized what she was dealing with. “Diversion. Keep moving, be on guard, they’re coming from somewhere!” No way to tell where with the music blaring, which was the point. At least it wasn’t a romantic ballad. She had enough reasons to want to set Jack on fire without him handing her more fuel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horton clung to his blaster and opened his mouth to say something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it was got lost in a scream as the floor opened under him. A tentacle burst through, sending pieces of tile flying everywhere as it pulled a slab of ground inwards. Horton lost his balance. Valerie got him by the sleeve before he vanished through the gap, realizing a fraction of a second too late that he wore a standard Ki-laar uniform, cheap and poor quality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fabric failed to bear his weight, ripping at the seam. She might still have broken his fall if she’d jumped after and caught him, but a second gray limb ripped through the portion of the floor she lay sprawled over, breaking it and upturning it and sending her falling off course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was, briefly, light. Then impenetrable darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie got to her feet. Staggered backward, or perhaps forward. Swore aloud, shuddering when the tendrils of void sneaking through the spelled boundary devoured the sound of her voice. The ground wasn’t ground, merely an impression of solid matter, and therefore she hadn’t hurt herself landing. She only felt like an idiot for forgetting that floor minus seven, right under where she’d been standing, was where the staff kitchen was located. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The staff kitchen, which housed a world gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d grown used to traversing them, as much so as any frequent traveler who didn’t routinely sift the Great Dark for extra parts. They no longer reduced her to a trembling wreck, although she’d never feel comfortable traipsing through them. This one, however, filled her with a specific brand of unease. Like the Ring, that other artifact of magic left behind with Marabeth’s demise, the gate radiated a loathing that felt a touch too personal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moreover, it felt angry. Volatile, like it might at any moment start crumbling or ignite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horton was either dead or hadn’t fallen in along with her, else she’d hear him screaming. Then again, if he’d landed a great distance away, the dark might be swallowing his pleas for help. Valerie took a step, then another, until she realized that it didn’t matter if she advanced or backtracked. She still couldn’t tell one direction from the other. She wished she had a beacon, crystal shades, anything to see by. At this rate she’d tumble out of the wrong end of the black and find herself in Barashi, and that, shockingly enough, would be the lesser evil. How long did she have left until the first email sent? Three minutes? One? What would happen once the countdown hit zero? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However she did it, she needed to get out. Becoming the first person to learn the consequences of standing inside a gate while one of its physical tethers was annihilated was not a prospect she looked forward to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear Jack’s song coming from . . . somewhere. She suspected that the only reason she hadn’t gotten jumped yet was that he didn’t know her whereabouts any more than she did his, as no light betrayed his presence. His song waxed and waned, at once a far-off murmur and intimately close. She remained on guard even as it started to seem like it floated further away from her. Distance had become such a fudged concept that she couldn’t trust it for love or money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden surge of warmth at her back, the whisper of breath in her hair, the indelible impression of a body pressing into her, a rustling of fabric, a clanking of chains — all of those were ever so much more concrete even before Valerie’s face exploded with pain. She reeled back, dizzy, seeing stars peppering the darkness, which was wrong in ways she couldn’t readily describe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going somewhere?” Jack drawled, and it was a good thing he did, because that way she knew where to return the blow once she got her balance back. She was off by a bit, as instead of his jaw, hit something which broke under her fist with a crunching like glass. In that time, he kicked her feet out from under her and seized her wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see her. Somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moreover, he had no idea of what she had been cooking up in the comms room, else he wouldn’t waste what little time they had settling over her as though he meant to be in that position for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack,” she said, sensing his face closing in, thinking that darkness take it, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>worth a try. “I’ve just realized: I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>love you. I always have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There should be no way for a line like that to work still, after everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it did. Gods above, it did. She would even swear that for a moment, Jack ceased breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie kicked him back and rolled out from under him, on her feet and running before he could remember what world he was on. She broke through an invisible limit, saw light, went blind, still didn’t stop. The chances that she’d make it to the elevator were nonexistent. She could only run, run and hope she’d be able to see again in time to find a hard surface to shield under. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack crashed into her from behind, bringing her down like so many bricks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie hissed as she got turned around none too gently and her back slammed into the floor. His features were blurry, but she hazarded an educated guess as to how they looked. Irate. Embarrassed. Which would change, once his focus drifted off her, once he felt the magic around them rear its head and roar. Although considering that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that focus was equally likely to remain glued on her for the next century even if the building came apart around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or the rest of their lives; a shorter length of time, now that Valerie knew for certain that the ball had been sent rolling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could slightly make out the shape of his mouth. His lips moved in a way suggestive of shouting, but she had to strain to hear what he said over the dissonance erupting, the groaning of stone, the hectic pounding of her heartbeat. Blurry bright columns generated some distance away, and the space was growing swelteringly hot. Parts of it must have caught fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Val. What did you do?!” Jack’s distress would be one ray of light to take into darkness with her. As would the ashen look she saw on his face as her eyes became capable of filling in its outline. A trail of blood ran from his brow til halfway down his cheek, crossing over his eye. Valerie took note of the goggles hanging from his neck, one of the lenses crushed. That’d been how he’d been able to locate her in the gate, then. One last mystery solved. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What did you do?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t answer. The staff kitchen was alight with magic, strings of it blasting in all directions. Feeling the ground under her shake, watching the walls shiver, listening to the indescribable clamor coming from one floor up, she surmised that something had already blown up, but it’d been a weaker discharge than predicted. It might be that a single message, even one sent to four thousand people, didn’t suffice to put the gate out of commission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good thing that she’d sent twelve. One minute intervals — how many seconds left now, before the next? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over,” she said, addressing Jack but looking elsewhere. Energy pulses laid waste to everything from trays and tables to fridges, the strength of the magic appearing more — ‘concentrated’, felt like the best word to describe it — with each passing moment. A shape clad in white lay a distance away, fire clinging to it like a full bodied halo. At first Valerie thought it a Ki-laar, but no, Horton. She prayed that he landed one of the kinder gods as his guide. One that looked favorably upon curiosity and didn’t mind answering forty million questions about whatever afterlife was reserved for humans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Jack was shaking his head, shaking her, pulling her to a stand. She allowed it all, unable to let herself be fazed by anything he did. She might be laughing. She felt like it, at least, all the more for how indignant he looked while screaming at her. “No, do you hear me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of magic rocked them both off their feet a second time. Concrete dust rained on them as they were flattened to the tiles, Jack on top of her, shifting, pushing the limits of how many limbs his upper body could accommodate and in the process becoming so heavy that Valerie wouldn’t have been capable of shoving him off if there’d been any purpose in trying. He spun the tentacles over them both, providing cover from the falling rubble and diverting the larger pieces of stone. A barrier which held, for now, but wouldn’t resist should the upper stories collapse on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would. Far up to their left, Valerie glimpsed — and could only glimpse, as it was impossible to withstand the sight of it for longer than an instant — a swirling, incandescent circle. The eye of the storm, the spell network shrunken upon itself not so that it would conserve enough energy to survive, but so that it had more to lash out with. It might know that it was dying; if so, it had determined that its swan song would be one for the ages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose this was always how we’d end,” she mused, not fine with it, but willing to acknowledge that it wasn’t a bad way to go out. It would accomplish what she’d set out to do. It would even wipe out her worst mistake alongside her. She'd been unknowingly prophetic, in what she'd said as a bluff back in the Rivers' house. Or maybe part of her had known all along that in the end they’d come together, but as fragments and ash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either Jack didn’t notice the poetry, or it didn’t resonate with him. He was still shouting, albeit in a way that suggested that he’d be hissing if he stood a chance of making himself heard above the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You honestly think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is preferable to being with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she told him, point blank. She lifted her hand to swipe off the blood running over his eye, smiling as she did, knowing that it would send him fuming. Knowing that he already despaired because of how calm she came across, and that he’d do so all the more if he knew her eerie serenity to be genuine. “I did tell you. Multiple times. Not my fault that you refused to listen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie refused to hear or acknowledge whatever he shouted in response. She pictured trees and fields and sunlight. She watched Jack’s face morph from apoplectic to daunted as his body shook with effort to uphold the protective barrier. Through the gaps between the threaded limbs she saw larger pieces of stone, furniture, a body or two, raining on them, very little of it intact and all of it on fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pictured, bringing up a memory happy but tainted by hindsight, standing in a glass tunnel with the ocean around her and an arm slung over her shoulder, a hand pointing out where she was supposed to look — </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘There, see the tail behind those rocks? Don’t move too much, and it may swim this way.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> She remembered their twin breaths fogging the glass as they stood side by side, staring at the water with mounting anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she said, unsure why she stated it aloud. The words weren’t meant for Jack. </span>
  <em>
    <span>About</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. She didn’t feel sorry for him in the slightest. She lamented all that could have been and hadn’t, wouldn’t, ever. The tears wasted and the missed opportunities. A man who’d never existed except in lies. “I really am sorry that it was always too late for you to have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valerie would have liked to know how he’d reply, but the curtain fell on them too soon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chrysalis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It was fifty just last week!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it’s fifty-five this week, cuz, you see — supply chain — the war . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bah to the war, this is robbery!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana slunk out of the way as the irate human woman turned away from the counter and barreled past her. A can of something or other got slammed down on a nearby shelf; probably not where it was supposed to go. Valeriana eyed it, torn on whether she ought to feel apprehensive. She hadn’t been able to follow the exchange. Whatever had left the woman so incensed about the innocuous container was lost on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By some miracle, the shop window survived the high-pitched hollering, which continued to spring forth until the dissatisfied customer stomped out the door, tossing it closed with so much force that the walls rattled. The man behind the counter waved Valeriana’s way, not looking the slightest bit troubled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can come up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a significant amount of self-convincing for her to detach from the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did she remember the list? The whole of it? She had a copy folded up in her pocket. If it came to the worst and she clammed up or forgot how to pronounce something, she could slide it over for the human to read. Most of them could read, she’d been surprised to learn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!” she sounded out, pitching her voice to emulate Tonya’s. There’d been lessons, these past few days, every night for an hour after dinner, during which her host would say stock phrases for her to repeat. The proper greeting for early afternoon eluded her, but ‘hello’ was adequate across the board, or so she’d been told. “Can I buy . . . two grape jam, one bleach, one margarine, twelve spam, one large flour . . . in a bag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bleach, is that one jug, one gallon, a one-gallon jug . . ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Valeriana suspected, from the not unfriendly but too sly smile she received, that the man was making fun of her. She rallied as best she could. “One gallon. In a jug. What is the price?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was to walk out if the answer was a number above the one on the bill she kept next to the list. The total turned out to be under by a hair. She pocketed the change and swept the groceries into the basket that Tonya had also given her. The cashier made an odd sort of noise when she picked up the flour bag last, tucking it under her arm. She didn’t understand his surprise. It was plainly too big to go with the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lift a lot, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I am still learning English,” she sang, </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> words flowing smoothly. She’d practiced them to the point of exhaustion, figuring that she’d have to say them often. Since they had concluded the transaction with success, she prepared for a swift exit. “Thank you! Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long had it been? Five minutes, ten? Frank had told her he’d be driving around in fifteen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana felt painfully awkward, standing outside the store with the basket hanging from her shoulder and the flour under her arm. On Earth, the impression of being out of place forever assailed her. She woke with it and went through the day with it and went to bed with it and took it into her dreams on the nights she got respite from the nightmares that had plagued her since her arrival.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is not your world. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Everything around her, every word overheard and unknown, screamed it. The first time the sentiment had occurred to her in so many words, she’d laughed. She knew that. Of course she knew she wasn’t home — how could she not?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it was one thing to know something for a fact and another to experience it continuously, like an unsettling, lingering draft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today Earth’s pale sun shone and, wrapped in enough wool to dress a herd, she had no complaints regarding the cold. It was a busy hour and there were plenty of humans out and about, the commotion of vehicles on the road and talking and walking masking the absence of a background tune, making the street feel friendlier. There was no one she needed to entertain or be mindful of or avoid. Not even Lady Marabeth; she hazarded an educated guess that the woman would sooner hack her own leg off than be caught shopping among humans. She was beyond anyone’s notice, and that ought to have been a relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not yours. Not for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps this was why there’d never been a serious interest in making Earth part of the Tsikalayan dominion. Its inhabitants being unwelcoming would have been a minor hassle, but when it was the world itself that felt resentful of her presence . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s van had an unusual way of honking, like a blood song of its own. Valeriana breathed out, relieved, when the strident </span>
  <em>
    <span>gwhee</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ing provided a distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did we make you wait? We thought it’d take longer, there’s usually a big line,” Tonya said. Valeriana shrugged and handed in her bounty through the side window, with as accomplished a feeling as she’d ever had. Until Tonya, like the cashier, made a strange noise at the flour. “Gosh, no, wait, that’s too heav— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frank, help</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they struggled to get the bag behind the seat while Valeriana stood by, dying on the inside and falling over herself to apologize. She’d forgotten — humans were weaker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the groceries were correct. Tonya’s only remark was that it should have been a two-gallon jug of bleach, but that it was her fault for not specifying. For Frank’s part there’d been muttering about everything having been more expensive than predicted, about the Claytons being shameless thieves, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes there was a war ongoing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but there was overcharging and then there was what those cunts did . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana settled in the space she’d carved for herself between the backs of the two front seats, sighing with quiet relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank and Tonya had been considerate of her, and she’d behaved as best she could in return, but there’d been growing pains. Mrs. Drakma had dropped in two days into her stay, to check on her and hand in an assortment of clothing and toiletries. During that brief encounter, Valeriana had received the suggestion that it would reflect well on her to help with chores and whatnot. She’d felt wretched. Doubly so because it hadn’t crossed her mind that she ought to offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d run into trouble whilst trying to make up for her lack of consideration, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d tried her hand at cooking, assuming she’d get the hang of it. She’d been wrong. Tonya had offered her cooking lessons after they’d put the fire out and requested that she never turn the stove on again without supervision. Valeriana had been too embarrassed to take the lessons and not touched the stove since. Attempts to clean hadn’t resulted in so much disaster. However, after a while, she’d noticed that Tonya would dust and swipe the floors a second time after she’d gone over them, proving her efforts dire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Currently, Valeriana did the dishes and set the table and helped with the vegetable garden. She wasn’t gifted with plants, but she’d spent enough afternoons in sweltering greenhouses with Belladonna yelling at her to trust that she wouldn’t murder every green thing she touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might be on her way to settling in. She had nothing but good things to say about the hospitality she had received. She was ever so grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been counting down the days until word came from Jack even so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma hadn’t brought news when she’d dropped by. Tonya and Frank hadn’t mentioned anything either, and so Valeriana had resigned herself to waiting, not daring to push for more. She could be patient. Jack would answer her message, irrespective of what had transpired between her and his aunt. Aunts. He had stood by her in the aftermath of murder. He’d be baffled that she’d tried to help a slave escape, but wouldn’t wash his hands of her for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>answer. Hopefully soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to stop at headquarters,” Frank said, elaborating, when she shot him a look of startled incomprehension, “My workplace. Mrs. D said she’d like to see you, so we’re spending the afternoon there while my darling wife fritters it away at the hairdresser — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Toni, don’t hit me, I’m driving</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wants to see me?” Valeriana quashed a flutter of hope. Mrs. Drakma could need her for reasons that had nothing to do with Jack having sent news. Even bad reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Didn’t tell me what she wants to talk about, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana let the subject turn to more trivial matters, which saw her shut out of the conversation for not knowing what to add. She still listened in; unraveling the ties that bound her hosts to Briseis Drakma had become something of a pastime for her. The woman herself had referred to them as associates. Tonya had made a passing mention of her running Frank ragged with the war business. Frank himself had kept a staunch silence that only raised more questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched the town slip by in a brown and gray blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank had taken her on what he’d dubbed a ‘reconnaissance trip’ on her first afternoon as their guest, showing her around, pointing out landmarks and citing names and events that had slipped Valeriana’s mind no sooner than they entered it. It had been peculiar, being alone with a man who wasn’t her father or Jack, even if he was human, even if she knew she had nothing to fear. Frank and Tonya were married, which she understood to be like being mated, but without a mating bond. She’d wondered how that could work, until she’d recalled the shortness of human lifespans. Perhaps there wasn’t enough time for couples to tire of each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is it,” Frank said. They’d pulled up in front of a four story building, with a brickwork front and a stately air. Westmont was a flat town overall, but there were clusters of taller buildings. Valeriana tried to decipher the plaque next to the main door. Frank followed her gaze and laughed. “Don’t let the fancy trappings fool you, it’s just to blend in. I don’t think anyone’s ever walked inside to ask what L. Freemore Investments invests in. Mrs. D has the paperwork sorted out if that day comes, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bade Tonya goodbye and went inside, stepping into an empty reception area. There was a bell, but Frank didn’t ring it, instead taking a key from his pocket and unlocking the door behind the main desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana followed him through, into a bustling hallway. Like at the Mayfly, there were no windows. Thankfully, that was as far as the place went in echoing it. There was wood paneling on the walls and a scruffy carpet of indeterminate color covering most of the floor, and signs and posters hanging everywhere. There was not one Ki-laar in sight. In their place there were humans, heaps of them, talking, muttering, complaining when someone bumped into someone coming the other way or just milling about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank guided her to a less populated room, where a handful of people sat by a round table. He coughed into his fist and elbowed her. Getting the hint, Valeriana put her hand up and waved. She would have of her own accord, had she not been sidetracked upon spying Mrs. Drakma among the faces gathered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, there you are!” Jack’s aunt bounded over and coerced her into the nearest chair that wasn’t serving as a glorified filing cabinet before introducing her to the rest of the room. “Gentlefolk, this is Valeriana Lazur, whom I’ve told you about. Valeriana, these are some members from the Westmont chapter of the Liberation Front, which I haven’t told you about and would like to. Oh, and there’re brownies, please help yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t. She kept her hands folded on her lap and her eyes downcast, thinking that her sisters would be livid at the mess. Darkness unbound, even she was horrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those were the main thoughts kicking around in her head while Mrs. Drakma explained the Liberation Front, giving her the full company digest and succinctly summarizing every reason why the High Council had signed off on that kill-on-sight directive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” she mumbled, once the woman fell silent. The humans must have had a passable command of Barashnik, because most had looked like they were following along and now they all turned towards her, causing her to gulp. “That’s all very . . . I mean, it’s kind of you, that you started this group to help fight the slave trade. And I . . . I won’t share all of this that you just told me with anyone, even if it’s not like there’s much I could reveal, what with the Council already knowing and hunting you down for it, but I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh dear, she’s doing it again</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Someone bump her on the back so that she remembers to breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>. I’m fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am.” Just hopelessly lost. “I don’t understand why you’d want me here to hear this, however. I mean, if that’s why you wanted me to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, and want you to know, because the Front could benefit from having you as a member. As would you from joining us.” Her face must spell out her reservations, if overshadowed by shock. Mrs. Drakma went on talking while Valeriana struggled to come up with a coherent response. “Worry not, I don’t expect an answer now. Today I’ll show you around. Should make a nice change from being cooped up in the suburbs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, I suppose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brilliant!” Mrs. Drakma paused and took a bite from her chocolate pastry, wiping crumbs onto the floor with a distracted swipe of her sleeve. Valeriana had already suspected that the humans weren’t to blame for the chaos amid which they held meetings. Witnessing that absolved them wholesale. “Away with us, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t help but be reminded of her first day on Earth, of another tour of another building. However, the impression faded within minutes of trotting after the woman at a snail’s pace, being made to peer into rooms and regaled with ornate descriptions of every piece of furniture and appliance. These were typewriters which one of the born-and-grown-in-town Front members had scrounged from his cousin’s company. That was an electric kettle — the things humans came up with, very ingenious, so useful! — and couldn’t be left unattended if turned on, because it had nearly caused a fire on one occasion. This, meaning a room where opening the door triggered an avalanche of paper, was the records room, but truthfully files got stashed anywhere where they fit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> noticed that. It would be rude to ask how the organization functioned whilst seeming powered by chaos, and therefore her lips remained sealed. But she wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took an hour for them to go up and down the building. Valeriana limited herself to listening and issuing harmless commentary when she’d gone too long without speaking. When they returned to the ground floor, sitting themselves in a wide office space which morphed into a kitchen midway through, she finally worked up the courage to broach the question that had wanted to jump off her tongue since her arrival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t . . . have you heard anything from Jack yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma stopped blowing on the tea she’d poured them both and set the cup aside. Despite not knowing her well, Valeriana had formed enough of an impression to realize that such a thing didn’t bode well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hesitate to say this, as it’ll do nothing but worry you, but since you’ll keep asking . . . I don’t expect we shall have an answer from him anytime soon. The Montréal gate started barring crossings on Sunday. If he didn’t receive your letter and write back before that, I doubt you’ll have word of him until they sort the situation. How long </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>will take . . . who knows?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What situation?” Valeriana asked, puzzled and concerned in equal measure. She hadn’t heard of anything that would justify closing off a gate. In fact, she’d never heard of a gate being closed off. Hadn’t known it was something that could occur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Off-world invasion, by the Circles of Inocoria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer bewildered her further, postponing her dip into panic. If pressed to say who might launch an attack on Barashi, Valeriana would have replied . . . Cynihe, or Kaldiciperia, and even then she’d name them with skepticism. For all that the former existed in a constant state of rebellion, and the latter was the sole Bound World that kept an armed force, they’d never.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Circles of Inocoria would not even have emerged as a contender, for one elementary reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But . . . they’re not inhabited? There’s nothing there, just ocean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma picked her tea up again, the corner of her mouth twitching as she brought the cup to her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps someone ought to have taken a closer look at those waters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How, though? How did this happen? It’s not . . . none of it makes any sense!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” the woman said. “Would you like me to tell you what I know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all rather unpleasant.” When Valeriana refused to falter, there came a longer pause, followed by a sigh as Mrs. Drakma arranged the narrative. “Two days after we met, one third of the High Council’s treasury custodians got slaughtered during their quarterly meeting. By one of its own members, no less. A day later, another attack occurred at the Alkarosh City slave market. Fourteen dead and many more wounded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana shuddered. She thought about her sisters. She thought about Jack. They would still have been in the city at the time. She tried not to make herself ill from contemplating the possibilities. She likewise subdued her distress as best she was able, lest Mrs. Drakma take either as a sign to stop talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the second instance, the culprit was put down by the city guard. Examination of the body revealed an unknown creature fused with their spine and brainstem. Interrogating the assassin responsible for the first attack, who’d been taken in alive, revealed information much more interesting.” The woman took another sip of tea. This time Valeriana </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was using the cup to mask a smile. “They call themselves the Inocore. They’re aquatic, but can survive on land through fusion with hosts of compatible species, which comprehends anything with a level of intelligence. Given that they overtake executive functions and there is no way to extract them, their host bodies are as good as dead from that point onwards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mindless parasites, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mindless? No, oh</span>
  <em>
    <span>, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where in all that did you figure they were mindless? They are clever enough, and broke into Barashi’s seas — it’s unknown at the moment how many crossed over, but everything points towards them being legion — with a clearly defined goal: to annihilate all of us that they can get their shiny little pleopods on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ensuing pause stretched long and weighty, at least on Valeriana’s end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You . . . don’t seem concerned.” Delighted was more the word, and attempting to mask her disgust was a war she lost at inception. She’d thought . . . Mrs. Drakma was nicer than her sister, leading to the naïve presumption of her being a better person. Doubts now formed in that regard. All the more because the woman reacted to the accusation with an unaffected shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. Barashi is a blight, spreading rot to whatever it touches. A world of slave traders and slaveholders, who won’t change their ways without strong cause to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everyone there is like . . . like your sister. Some—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some are complicit through their silence and inaction, yes. Perhaps the fact that for once, they are the ones being stripped of will and reduced to tools will afford them the perspective they lack. Hope, as the Great Dark, is after all everlasting. Or perhaps they won’t — in which case, is losing them such a loss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ —some just </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>do much, because it’s not up to them.” How Mrs. Drakma could sit there, accusing others of lacking perspective when she didn’t recognize a fact so basic, boggled the mind. “Because their lives aren’t up to them either, even if they are Tsikalayan! Not to mention the children — can you smile and say that those also deserve to be made as good as dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a subtle change to Mrs. Drakma’s features, noteworthy because little else about the woman held truck with subtlety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone too young to be culpable should be spared,” she said, averting her eyes. Valeriana had an inkling that this was the closest she’d get to a concession. Even if it was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have family there,” she gritted out. One wondered if the woman would understand </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, considering the fraught state of her own familial relations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma’s eyebrows went up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family you care about? I’d presumed you were estranged, as you didn’t ask me to contact anyone aside from my nephew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Valeriana had to admit that not only was it a reasonable conclusion to draw, but it might be accurate. Her father would forbid her sisters from being in touch with her, if they didn’t cut ties themselves. “I didn’t because . . . it’s not worth it. They wouldn’t want to answer letters from me, after the way I left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry to hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s . . . it will be fine. Better this way. They could get in trouble with the High Council if we kept in touch.” Mrs. Drakma’s eyebrows climbed so high as to be diagonal. Valeriana recalled that she had yet to share the reason she’d ended up on Earth, and this appeared as suitable an occasion as any. What would the woman do with the knowledge? Chastise her, having just discoursed on how unworthy of life their kind was? “I . . . killed someone. I have a birth defect, so it’s been difficult to find a suitable mate, but this man offered and . . . only it wasn’t a serious offer, but . . . he used it to get me alone and try to . . . and I didn’t know what else to do, so I killed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Good on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, yes. I mean, I shouldn’t have—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—shouldn’t even dream of questioning that it was deserved, is what I hope you were about to say.” The woman reached over and gave her shoulder a companionable pat. After everything said, Valeriana couldn’t decide how she felt about the gesture. “Be proud that you stood up for yourself. Imagine what would have happened otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Marabeth also said something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words came out before Valeriana could consider how well they </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>land. To her relief, Mrs. Drakma appeared amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did she? Well. I suppose even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She also criticized the way I got rid of the body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just Maz for you. So, just to assure myself that I am on the right page, you and my nephew aren’t eloping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana let out a startled laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack helped cover up for me and got Lady Marabeth to take me off world so that I wouldn’t be arrested. He’s my oldest . . . my only friend. We’re not eloping for sure. I’m . . . before, I hoped he’d write back so that I’d have help in navigating all this. Now I’m just worrying if he’s safe. If they all are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here, her answering laugh was bitter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are just words, though. You have no way to guarantee that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma regarded her through narrowed eyes, unsmiling, and finished her tea in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The next day materialized, for once without being preceded by a night spent skipping from one nightmare to another. Valeriana had persuaded her eyes to fall shut with sunrise a handful of hours away, sleeping too little to get through more than a single bad dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were five that recurred. She had feared that following her exchange with Mrs. Drakma, the number would grow. That her night terrors would start including her sisters being mobbed by people covered in scales and seaweed; Jack eaten alive by fish with tentacles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, upon closing her eyes she’d met a vision by now familiar: Rachel’s face, gaunt and frightened, as insubstantial as smoke against a scarlet backdrop; darkening while the lights dimmed, eventually leaving only the girl’s voice. Its modulation would dance from panicked to pleading to almost challenging, but she always said only one thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help. Help. Help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing under a blue sky in the afternoon sun, Valeriana wished that she could shut out the memory or, failing that, understand what to do with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely day, no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whirled around, startled. How lost in thought had she been, to not have noticed Mrs. Drakma’s approach?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Good afternoon. I was just . . .” She motioned at the rain lilies she’d been looking to uproot. Spending the day pulling weeds in the backyard, where the overgrown hedge would conceal her, had been her goal for the afternoon. “I’m replanting these by the fence. They’ll get more light there. Do you need anything? Because Frank is at work, and I think Tonya went over to the neighbors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t fret. I’m here for you.” Which had Valeriana doing the opposite of not fretting. Mrs. Drakma peered at her, lips pursed. She shook the dirt off her hands self-consciously, hoping there’d be no commentary on her messy state. No such luck. It came almost as the thought formed. “You look right awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone,” she countered, flushing bright pink. Privately, she found it absurd that the woman would take exception to her insufficiently curated appearance, in light of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that hat</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was the most horrid hat Valeriana had seen in her life; tall and wide brimmed and leaf green and bedecked in sunflowers, which might have improved its look if a good third of the flowers weren’t dead or wilting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the clothes, your face.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I thought you already seemed peaky at headquarters, but it’s gotten worse. Did you sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little,” she admitted, trying not to let the matter-of-fact commentary bother her. “It’s fine. What do you want me for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to apologize. Moreso now that I see evidence that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> upset you yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fi— you don’t need to. Apologize, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I do. It was a mistake to tell you about the invasion. Frank had already mentioned that you’d been having nightmares. I ought to have held off until you were more grounded, instead of adding to your troubles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. Truly.” Valeriana meant it. She didn’t begrudge Mrs. Drakma telling her the truth. She’d have felt more cross if the woman had withheld it, regardless of the sleep she might lose. She also needed to start locking her door overnight. It hadn’t occurred to her that Frank and Tonya would notice that she had trouble sleeping. Had she been making that much noise? “I’m glad you told me. I would rather know, even if it means I’ll worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet somehow, I sense that we didn’t leave on the best of terms yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana’s mouth mimed a waxy smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, they had not. Mrs. Drakma had left soon after finishing her tea, called away to mind more important matters. She’d spent the leftover time at headquarters haunting the kitchen table, until a human named Bea, who’d come in looking for a bagel, took her hostage and dedicated the next three hours to teaching her Morse code.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the afternoon and evening were a blur. She had a faint recollection of complimenting Tonya’s hair on their way back to the house. Otherwise, her mind had been fuddled by fear and bitterness, wedded to the sobering realization that the rug had been pulled out from under her once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yesterday. I just . . .” She pretended to study the rain lilies, avoiding the woman’s eyes. The impulse to hand out a polite lie was easier to curb if she didn’t face her. “I haven’t made this clear, maybe, but I don’t hate our world. I’m not happy that it’s being invaded and that people are dying. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you were glad! I’m not upset that you told me, I’m upset that you were smiling while telling me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my defense, I’d made some wrongful assumptions about your relationship with your family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even so! If I didn’t have family and friends there, I’d still find it awful. You want me to work for you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>With</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Work with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“However you phrase it, I can’t. Not if I’m expected to jump for joy at the notion of Barashi being invaded. I’m not — I killed someone, and I realize that means I’m a criminal, but I’m not a traitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . .” Valeriana, having lost her yarn, rallied as best she could. “Good. Thank you. But do you really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t ready. That’s alright. Things must happen in their own time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you . . . you don’t understand at all, then! I’ll never be ready. I don’t want to be ready!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yes, that’s all part of it, I suppose,” Mrs. Drakma mused. Her attention moved to the lilies, as though she didn’t see Valeriana staring at her with surging disgruntlement. “If you try to pull those out by force, you’ll yank the stem right off the bulb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Look, I’m grateful for your help, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I were you, I’d dig out a swath of earth around each, make a hole the same size at the new spot and drop them in dirt and all; they’ll never notice they were moved.” A small smile played on the woman’s lips. Valeriana didn’t have the energy to pretend she didn’t see the lines she was meant to read between. Mrs. Drakma smiled brighter, as if to compensate for the dip in mood. “But, it’s too nice an afternoon for you to spend on weeds. Go get yourself clean and sorted. I’m taking you out. Did you try on those dresses I brought you last time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but — wait—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then go put on one you like and meet me by the gate. Go on, hurry up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana ached to say that she’d prefer to continue moving lilies, but years of experience at being ordered around made her resolve fold. She turned her back on Mrs. Drakma and trudged inside the house without another word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a minor show of defiance, she didn’t place haste in getting ready. She took her time brushing her hair until it was free of dirt and foliage, cleaned her nails and stopped short of showering only because it was an age and a half for the water to reach an adequate warmth. Making Mrs. Drakma wait that long would be overdoing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonya had stuffed the drawers with underthings. Humans, left to their own devices, wore infinite layers under the upper echelons of their clothing. She eschewed the girdle and the stockings. She didn’t have the patience to wrestle the former and the latter were always falling into her shoes when she tried them on; she kept the brassiere. Of the dresses Mrs. Drakma had left her, she selected one in a dark shade of purple. It was the least garish of the lot, although it made her feel like she’d raided Belladonna’s wardrobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma didn’t comment on the delay when she returned. Just as well, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” she asked, sliding into the passenger seat. Another question presenting itself was ‘What if it rains?’. Unlike every other automobile she’d ridden in, this one lacked a roof. She’d borrowed a felt hat from Tonya, but didn’t trust it to protect against random downpours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m meeting some acquaintances in Port Stoketane. Frank and Tonya didn’t take you touring the seaside yet, did they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even realize we were near the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Near? Well, in a manner of speaking. It’s a forty-minute drive, though that’s because they used someone’s small intestine as a blueprint to plot the road. It’s godawful. Curves for miles, for no good reason. You’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma’s driving skills turned out to be reminiscent of Jack’s, which was to say, unspeakable. Valeriana doubted that they’d proceed in a straight line even if the path were drawn with a ruler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exhaustion and lethargy, coupled with queasiness as they hit every pothole they came across, made it difficult for her to enjoy the scenery. There wasn’t much to appreciate either way. If she looked behind her, she could make out Westmont’s dwindling outline. In the other directions she saw nothing but desiccated bush and dunes rippling at the whim of a dry wind. The sea must hide somewhere past those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just her and Mrs. Drakma and the road ahead and the woman’s song around her, so hectic and busy that she could mistake it for atmospheric turbulence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana felt the loneliest she had since she was five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished Jack were there. If she spent a second thinking it through, the fantasy that his presence would make it all better collapsed, because he’d want her to mend her ties to Lady Marabeth and she would refuse to entertain the thought. They’d argue. It might turn ugly. Still, in the end she’d feel better for having him with her, knowing him safe and well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no dearth of words pouring out of Mrs. Drakma as the tires cut through the dust. The woman inquired about how she was adjusting and snorted with disbelief upon being told that no adjustment was taking place. She wanted to know how her English lessons with Tonya were coming along — it was not a surprise that she knew about those. Admitting that progress was scarce and slow going resulted in a good-natured appeal to give it time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana couldn’t figure out what to do with that. She’d hastened to divert conversation. Port Stoketane, what was it like? What color was the sea, were there beaches where you could swim, how cold was the water . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a gate to Cynihe two hundred nautical miles off the coast. Converting to lim, that’s about . . . hm, I need to convert it to cubits first, I don’t know the direct equivalence. Are lim even still in use?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Kaldian mile has been the standard for the last thousand years.” Valeriana might never cease to be stunned by how, despite her above average grasp on current events in Barashi, Mrs. Drakma could be so out of touch regarding subjects that were common knowledge. “I think you only see lim used on old maps these days. In the altar room at home we have one that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the gate is a ways off, that’s the relevant bit. Two thirds underwater and outside the popular sailing routes. It’s small enough that it would take incredible bad luck for a ship to pass through it by accident. Thankfully; there’s another seaboard gate in the Bermudas that causes no end of grief, because it’s massive, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of the way, and connects to the bloody Death Zone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana paled a little. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> was one world that she didn’t feel tempted to visit. Everything one might say about it was encompassed by the name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds . . . dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is. Nothing that goes through returns. We have a section stationed in Providenciales that’s tasked with herding back boats before they make it that far, but they can’t catch them all. And planes! I swear it’s like the blasted thing attracts them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana recalled being in the dark, lost among unseen people, with a call reaching out to her, terrifying yet irresistible. This time she couldn’t stave off a shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s horrible. It’s good of you to intervene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do have purposes unrelated to harassing poor, hardworking slave traders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uhm.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies. Coming on too strong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” She would sooner have it out than lie, although it meant facing consequences that albeit inevitable, she’d counted on wrestling later down the line. “I do want to ask, need to ask this one thing. Does your kindness towards me rest on your expectation that you’ll change my mind? Because if that’s the case, I’d rather that you stop. It’s . . . cruel, to make me rely on your aid, if you are going to cast me aside once you accept that I won’t work for you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Whichever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A puzzled stare was returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever convinced you that kindness cannot come without strings attached should be made to swallow their own tongue. I’m not lending you help with caveats, Valeriana. You should try to love yourself a little more. I get the distinct impression that you don’t do it enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the issue. That’s not even remotely the issue!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand what the issue is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana felt like tearing her hair out. By now, she was convinced that the woman had to be pretending herself obtuse on purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The issue is that you just . . . keep pressing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That? Yes. And I shall keep at it. Not only because I think you will see things my way, in time, but because I didn’t tell my sister that I thought you had potential just to needle her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a spot of silence. Valeriana turned her face towards the road, focusing on the dunes rolling by, each identical to the last. She resisted the temptation to peek at Mrs. Drakma; she could feel the woman’s eyes on her, but checking what expression accompanied the stare was a bad idea. If she saw her looking amused, she’d become resentful. If she saw her looking any other way she’d flounder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d promised herself that she would get through this exchange with dry eyes and a modicum of poise. She hadn’t counted on being </span>
  <em>
    <span>challenged</span>
  </em>
  <span> — honestly, however else was she supposed to take the declaration just made?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Even if you refuse to believe that I can’t be convinced . . . why are you trying? Where in all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you glean a speck of potential?” She swept a hand over herself, bitterness spilling from her lips like a bottle of spoiled wine, uncorked and upturned. The words came in a stream, as they had in the café, without the clouding of spirits to excuse her. “I have no useful skills or talents or knowledge. I don’t even have a true form. I’m broken and useless and I ruined every avenue I was given to make myself into something worthwhile, and if I said yes to you, you’d see me turn out a disappointment, as I’ve been to everyone since the day I was born!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma didn’t stop her from talking, though now she stood closer to shouting. The woman looked taken aback with what Valeriana realized, even whilst too out of sorts to think straight, to be an uncharacteristic amount of virulence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could have said anything to replace this diatribe; seized the opportunity to circle back to the low stakes exchange from before and carry on about local fish species and seafood. Perhaps she could place the blame on lack of sleep; an excess of nights spent wandering among corpses of varying levels of personal significance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pause that followed after Valeriana cut herself off was delicate. Mrs. Drakma had brought the vehicle to a hiccupping halt and let the engine die. When she spoke, the words came ponderously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up, get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out!” Whatever inquiry or argument Valeriana would have worked herself up to making was deflated by the woman’s tone, which brooked no argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fumbled with the door. Felt a rush of confusion offset her apprehension when she saw Mrs. Drakma doing the same and walking around the vehicle. She wore a well-known expression, although Valeriana was used to seeing it on a different face; the one that often preceded Jack doing something he knew she wouldn’t like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here, it was comforting in the same measure as it alarmed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady B— Mrs. Drakma, what—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Switch. You’re driving the rest of the way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I don’t know how to—”</span>
</p><p><span>“I assumed so. Hence why I’m telling you to do it.” The woman arched an eyebrow at her aghast expression, as if defying her to argue. Valeriana’s mouth opened and closed, unable to form words. “It’s half past noon. I set the meeting for three o’clock. That gives you two and a half hours</span> <span>in which to plow through every dune in this stretch of desert. You may even find it therapeutic.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call it a push towards self-improvement. Talent is, by definition, not something you can buy through effort, but knowledge can be improved, skills can be learned, and if you can’t make yourself happy with what you have, you hunt for more. I’m starting you off with something easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not as simple as—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Life, my dear, is only as complicated as you let it be. Sit down. Hands on the wheel.” Mrs. Drakma was as unrelenting as the hurricane of her blood song as she ushered Valeriana into the driver’s seat. “First things first, adjust that seat so that your feet reach the pedals and the wheel isn’t up against your tits. There’s a latch sort of thing under on the side, see if you can find — yes, there you go. Now hold it down and slide back until you have enough leg space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I—”</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Hush. </span></em><span>None of that.</span> <span>You are doing well so far.”</span></p><p>
  <span>The woman kept firing instructions in the same vein, forcing Valeriana to move through the motions faster than she could question them. After five minutes of the same, she was told to turn the keys. Five starting attempts later, she got the motor going for longer than three seconds. It would have happened on the third attempt, but she had been so shocked when the automobile made the right noises instead of sputtering that she released the clutch too soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma beamed at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, see, that wasn’t bad at all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana begged to disagree but didn’t dare say so aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm. What now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move the gearstick — no, not that, that’s the . . . I’m not clear on what that does, actually, so don’t touch it. The other one. Move it into first gear, lift your foot, slowly — </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I say! There we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma turned out to be much better at teaching than she was at practice. They arrived in Port Stoketane with an hour and a half to spare. Valeriana wouldn’t claim to have performed </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the amount of dunes she’d flattened hadn’t touched double digits, and she could arguably drive in straighter lines than Mrs. Drakma by the time they reached civilization.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman insisted on replacing her behind the wheel as they entered the inhabited area, offering a cryptic ‘traffic rules’ as explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get around to those. The important bits boil down to ‘try not to run anyone over’, which is all you need to know for now.” They came to a stop, Valeriana lurching forward with the sudden arrest of motion. Mrs. Drakma grinned at her, pleased. “You did brilliant, and you’ll get better still. See? Always dare to do things, irrespective of whether you believe you can. That’s how you grow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” She was still reeling a bit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You did brilliant </span>
  </em>
  <span>reverberated, magnified a thousandfold, along the walls of her mind. “Thank you. For teaching me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I said, I do think you have potential. To become something wonderful, that goes without saying, but also to make a difference. I mean, can you think of anything better to do with yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana remembered her halting, miserable reply, to Lady Marabeth sneeringly asking her how she planned to carry on, all her shortcomings considered. At the time she could have provided no other; her future had never been up to her. Her plans were hers in name only, made for her rather than made by her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Currently, she didn’t even have those to hold on to. She was adrift, lacking goals more concrete than ‘wait for Jack and go elsewhere together’, which, when she built it up in her head like that, struck her as an unfair amount of responsibility to pin on him. Too much to demand from someone who only owed her that which he was willing to give.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small wonder that Mrs. Drakma had assumed that they were eloping, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought, when I stood at the gate on my way here . . . that I should like to see the other worlds, and find one where I might settle, since I can’t go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which worlds? Cynihe? Cahedros, perhaps? Although on both you’d be extradited, if who you are and what you did were discovered. The same holds true for every Bound World except Earth, which Barashi dragged its feet about conquering and thereby kicked itself in the teeth. So why not stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Earth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I . . .” Because on Earth, the excess of silence in every crowded room served as a permanent reminder that she belonged elsewhere. Because her stay had handed her an armful of square pegs, which she couldn’t fit anywhere without all she’d thought she knew falling apart like a house of cards. Because living among humans made her burst with a need to apologize for existing. “It’s cold, and I don’t like the food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your eyes go wide when you lie, did you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And there they go again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s alright, I’m not bothered. However, if you are lying to yourself, I don’t believe that to be in your best interest. Honestly, Valeriana. Why not Earth?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so she told her. The truth, this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than becoming cross, Mrs. Drakma looked sad. Or possibly pitying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth is many things, and you aren’t meeting it at its best, but what it also is, is free. If you feel uncomfortable here, you’ll fare worse anywhere else.” The woman’s voice grew peculiarly toneless as she went on, jerking her head to indicate some humans on the sidewalk going about their day. “You’ve come to see them as people. If you take yourself somewhere where they only exist as slaves, you’ll see them as people still, but people in chains. You can’t roll back your epiphany, or prevent it from changing you. Which, in your case, really is for the best. Trust me on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you . . .” If she didn’t ask now, she might never again work up the nerve. “When I said . . . you heard me say, earlier, that I don’t have a true form, didn’t you? Or rather, I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I have one, as I could never shift . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were shouting and I happen to not be deaf, so yes, I heard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for the shouting. So. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, what?” Experience suggested that Mrs. Drakma’s nonplussed demeanor must be an affectation, yet nothing rang false. “Are there health concerns involved?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Not anymore, not for years.” Valeriana felt her features slip towards a grimace and quickly smoothed them. Best that she not let her thoughts stray there. “It’s just, I was wondering why you didn’t ask if I’m . . . well. Everyone does, especially if they’ve noticed that my song sounds low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Handy, that. Good for stealth. Mine is much too loud, so I’ll never sneak up on one of ours in all my days. You might manage it, with practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> make an issue out of this, if you insist. Otherwise, it’s . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma mimicked throwing something away. Valeriana’s eyes tracked the motion, dazed, before returning to the woman’s face. She felt all manner of things. The only one she could easily put a name to was ‘choked up’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t claim that it was impulse. There wasn’t much thought involved, but the pause before she acted disqualified it as spur of the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana felt Mrs. Drakma stiffen. Hopefully only because she’d caught her by surprise. She thought, as she threw her arms up around the woman’s shoulders, that it was worlds different to hugging Jack. Softer and squishier, and while he always let her cling until external factors forced her to let go, here she felt like she’d held on for too long after the first minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew herself back into her seat, waiting for Mrs. Drakma to cease looking as though a train had run her over. The expression that eventually displaced her stunned countenance was one which Valeriana felt unsure how to interpret. Touched? Unnerved? Ambivalent? The woman’s face appeared oddly slack as she touched her shoulder blade, where Valeriana’s hand had rested. From somewhere rose the thought that perhaps she didn’t get hugged often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a very sweet girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana could just bob her head up and down awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It . . . it just means a lot to me, more than I can say, to have it not matter that I’m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That appeared to send Mrs. Drakma out of her strange mood. She fastened a smile in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t we all more than that which we lack?” The question was spoken low, as though it hadn’t been meant to be overheard, and followed by something unexpected. Valeriana’s arms got pushed into her sides with a smattering too much force; an ear bumped against her chin. She had guessed right. Mrs. Drakma was not used to hugs — receiving them </span>
  <em>
    <span>or </span>
  </em>
  <span>giving them. “Change is hard. Metamorphosis is a cruel process. Still, I think I can already see, a little, what you’ll have become when you come through on the other side. Something—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—wonderful.” Valeriana completed, not wishing to sound dubious and sounding cynical instead. Yet Mrs. Drakma beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something dangerous,” she said. As though it meant the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana sucked in a breath. Eventually her head might stop spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still won’t work for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>With</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And we’ll see, won’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The haven wasn't much to look at. Windy and gray and dreary, even before one factored in the wandering sheafs of mist. Valeriana held it as a rule that weather was always better by the seaside, but apparently Earth didn't abide by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No sooner had they arrived, and she fell afoul of a gale that ripped her hat off her head. She was forced to chase after it, arms flapping like the wings of a deranged bird, feeling infinitely glad that the place was empty and no one but Mrs. Drakma bore witness to the spectacle she made of herself. While she ran up and down the pier, Mrs. Drakma sat by the water with her legs dangling off the side, munching on something from a paper bag. That the woman could plop down without a care for how much dirt there was on the ground was mystifying. Every so often she would take out a watch and frown at it, before sighing and putting it away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are your acquaintances running late?" Valeriana was at last able to join her, pulling the hat down to her ears so that it wouldn't make another grand escape. She perched on a fairlead, the nearest, cleanest thing. At the woman's dour nod, she scrunched her brow in thought. "Perhaps the ship that's bringing them had trouble? Bad weather at sea?" She wasn't sure what trouble might befall a ship to delay it so that it didn't show up on the horizon when, according to Mrs. Drakma's watch, it ought to be berthing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she didn't expect the reply she got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps they're all dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana blinked, trying to determine whether the woman was making a tasteless joke, or . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How . . . likely is that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Very</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Crisp?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, thank you – excuse me, what do you mean?" How Mrs. Drakma was able to sit there, calmly crunching grease between her teeth after saying something like that, and by all accounts being serious about it, was another thing which Valeriana found difficult to wrap her head around. "Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>be very likely?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They'll be coming here through the Cynihe gate, unauthorized. I've made sure that there's little chance of them being intercepted on this side, but I can't be certain that things will run as smoothly on theirs." Once more the woman's eyes scanned the sea. Valeriana, in turn, tried to wrangle what she heard into a picture she could comprehend. To her horror, the only one which fit everything she'd learned about Mrs. Drakma so far was in no way pleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your acquaintances are </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cynihean insurgents</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Freedom fighters. Do calm yourself." Rather than looking apologetic for leaving her so out of sorts, Mrs. Drakma's concerned expression gave way to a wry smile. "Being here won't worsen your standing with the Council. They already want to arrest you for murder. A little bit of aiding sedition won't—"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don't want to aid sedition!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"For sure</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Truly, can't I tempt you? To the chips, not the sedition. It's too large a bag to eat alone." The greasy edibles were once more extended. Valeriana shook her head anew, kept shaking it, knowing she'd wind up dizzy but unable to stop. Perhaps, if she shook it long enough, she'd get through to the woman that no,</span>
  <em>
    <span> no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she would not make herself complicit in whatever madness was afoot, no matter what— "Oh, well, your loss. And, look! It appears that they've made it here alive after all!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the remark had been meant to distract her, it did the job flawlessly. Valeriana stopped mid-shake to follow Mrs. Drakma's gaze past the farthest away of the piers, in time to see a tapestry of white sails settle in plain sight. It was there and then not, shimmering in and out of focus, much closer to shore than expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Magic?" she stammered, weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma shook her head. She didn't look as satisfied anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Some manner of cloaking device. Cyniheans can't do magic; theirs would be an easier war to win if the opposite were true. Horrendously dangerous, however, to make it obvious that they're appearing from nowhere. They should have shown themselves much earlier." With a weary sigh, the woman stood. Her eyes narrowed to take in the whole of the docks. Valeriana had noticed, before, that there were no humans around doing whatever dock work entailed when they didn't have ships coming in. Noticed, but done nothing with the observation, taking the odd emptiness of the place as yet another 'how things are on Earth'. Now she felt that she ought to have at least wondered. "I thought we might pass off their arrival as regular traffic, but this . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait here</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait? Where are you going?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need to go sort this out before it becomes a problem. Be back soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But—" There was nothing that Valeriana liked about being left alone, with a ship of who knew what breed of savages poised to arrive. Only she wasn't given a chance to get another word in, as Mrs. Drakma had already hurried away and disappeared behind a row of containers. Insides working themselves into knots, she twisted her head back to watch the vessel cut the waves. It kept flickering, in a way that made her eyes water and would have rendered it difficult to perceive, were she not keeping track of its advance with maniacal diligence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should be running. Yet there was no convincing her legs to cooperate. She sat glued to her spot while the ship moved into port and prepared for berthing, the flickering ceasing to let it settle as incontrovertibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Insofar as Valeriana was any judge, nothing about it was ostensibly Cynihean. She'd seen many like it at home, sitting along the piers at Malmor Wharf. Slaver ships, recognizable by their imposing size and shortage of portholes. That was, she understood after a beat, precisely what it was; there was a company crest painted on the hull. Although it wasn't the Mayfly's, something inside her quailed at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was forced off the fairlead the next second. A thick end of rope sailed through the air and lassoed it, failing to hit her by scarce inches. She scrambled away. Her heart did its level best to punch a hole in her ribcage – this wasn't meant to happen, everything was proceeding much too fast, where had Mrs. Drakma gone? – and she tried to get a handle on it, only to discover she fought a losing battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The largest Cynihean male she'd ever seen came gliding down the rope, landing in a crouch right in front of her. She looked around wildly, begging her legs to come to their senses and take her away, but they remained stubborn, only allowing her to retreat a single step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Cynihean straightened and likewise stepped back, eyeing her cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who are you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I— </span>
  <em>
    <span>uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Liberation Front? Briseis, she sent you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana nodded as though her life depended on it. It very well might.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was as much as she knew about Cynihe: it revolted against Tsikalayan rule so often that hardly a decade went by without a period of active unrest, followed by the bloody repression of the unruly factions, and order being restored for a couple of years before it happened all over again. And again. And again, with more falling to the violence each round, and the violence itself escalating to heights that had turned Cynihean rebels into stories to scare children with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father owned an abundance of slaves from there. Impaired, so that theoretically they posed no danger. Even so, Valeriana recalled being eleven and having a very frazzled Angelica drag her away by the ear from a field where they'd been working, raving non-stop all the way home – was she stupid, did she have a death wish, was she looking to have her skull bashed in or worse?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The event had left an indelible impression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Cynihean in front of her appeared to have no interest in taking her apart piecemeal and filing his teeth with her bones. He turned away to secure the rope that had brought him over and another three that got thrown after. Alone, he finished mooring the ship in just a handful of minutes. While going about it, he talked. Valeriana, torn between feeling disturbed by the display of strength and baffled that he could make full sentences, when monosyllabic grunts were most often associated with the species, could only stare, mute and stunned stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pardon the lateness. Longliner, fishing too close to the gate on this side. We had to wait for it to fuck off so that we wouldn't sail right into it. Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Briseis?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She . . . she was, uh, she was mad about the . . . cloaking? Said that she needed to go stop it from becoming a problem. So she's . . . off doing that. Somewhere."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blast! I told Qurion this would — </span>
  <em>
    <span>ech,</span>
  </em>
  <span> never mind. She can let him or the commander have it once she's back. Can the others come down?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uhm.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Cynihean's expression remained politely expectant, making it evident that he was looking for more explicit assent. Valeriana wound up nodding, not trusting her tongue not to stumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had no time to worry about what she'd done. The other turned and shouted something that, while guttural, likely contained grammar. Possibly swearing, too. It must be necessary to have one's throat shaped a certain way to speak like that. She was sure she'd scrape hers raw trying to echo some of the sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More Cyniheans descended, not bothering with ropes or ladders or ramps. They were all male and all as imposing in size as their companion already ashore, save for the one who fronted them. That one made up in wideness for what he lacked in height. On the whole, he put Valeriana in mind of a small boulder. A boulder in a uniform. A boulder carrying an unsheathed, sickle-shaped blade strapped across his chest, too sharp to be ornamental. A boulder stepping towards her, canting his head as he inspected her, looking both irritated and thrown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"WHERE IS BRISEIS?!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She failed to locate her voice through the fog of her terror. Couldn't accrue enough moisture on her suddenly dry tongue to manage a reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Cynihean she'd already talked to answered in her stead. The boulder with the sickle blade didn't appear any happier for it. Then again, he had a face that gave off an impression of happiness not being something it expressed often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which didn't make his continued shouting at her less bloodcurdling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"WHO ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE, THEN?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana fell back another step, looking at the Cynihean she'd spoken to in hopes that he'd rescue her a second time. However, he kept silent. It dawned on her that it wasn't a question that he could answer. She'd provided no elaboration on who she was beyond confirming her affiliation to Mrs. Drakma and the Liberation Front, both things which only resembled the truth in the loosest sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"WELL?!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Commander Ikman!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma's reappearance was so swift that the accompanying song barrelled into Valeriana's head like a sledgehammer, leaving her spinning with vertigo even before the woman swooshed past in a tempest of green fabric, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Gentlemen! How lovely to see you all safe and hale! Now get back on the boat, all of you lot, so that we can discuss what in darkness persuaded you to arrive like</span>
  <em>
    <span>—oh no, you absolutely did not!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her attention had fallen on the logo emblazoned on the side of the ship. She pointed a finger at the shorter Cynihean – Commander Ikman, apparently – and no longer looked so pleasant, anger radiating off of her as it hadn't since the Mayfly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana noticed some of the Cyniheans trading looks among themselves. There was one, standing on the far left with his arms crossed, who seemed to be bracing himself for an impending explosion. He returned a crooked smile when he caught her looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana quickly averted her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>A Carcera vessel?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You stole a bloody Carcera vessel? Gods above, was your brain replaced with porridge since we last met? Do you know how much Marabeth hates them, how lucky you are that you didn't get torpedoed to the ocean floor for dropping anchor in her territory </span>
  <em>
    <span>on a ship from a rival company</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I specifically told you—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"NOW LISTEN HERE—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No time, no time for any of this, we must leave, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Have someone send down a ladder, too. We're not climbing up in these clothes and these shoes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Mrs. Drakma stopped windmilling her arms and making it hazardous to so much as stand in her vicinity, half the Cyniheans had scaled the side of the ship and clambered back over the railing, the first one to do so tossing down a rope ladder. Mrs. Drakma had spoken in plurals, so it shouldn't have come as a shock that Valeriana was told to climb. Nevertheless, she felt disinclined to obey and made sure to let the woman know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma pressed her fingertips to her forehead and sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sweetling, whatever you find yourself wrestling with, postpone it. Up you go, up, up!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana had little choice but to obey, lest she get swatted. Contented, or at least looking to be so as much as possible within the circumstances, Mrs. Drakma turned and continued to give Commander Ikman a piece of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the Cyniheans, the one who'd smiled, offered up his hand as Valeriana made it to the top of the ladder. She froze. Understanding that she wouldn't move unless he did, the other shrugged and went to stand by the others, who all loomed over the railing, watching the screaming match happening on the pier. Valeriana pulled herself onto the deck, landing in a graceless heap, and migrated towards the sterncastle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swore to herself that at the slightest sign of trouble, she'd jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The commander was loud, but it turned out that given sufficient reason, Mrs. Drakma could be louder. Ironically, considering her insistence on departing at once, they were the only two who had yet to come aboard. Valeriana felt uneasy watching them interact. Not only were they shouting frightful things, but Commander Ikman was only the shortest among his men. He positively towered over Mrs. Drakma, and the woman just went on raising her voice, making him visibly and increasingly incensed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn't envision any of it ending well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He . . . he won't hurt her, will he?" she inquired, needing reassurance more than she loathed calling attention to herself. As one, the Cyniheans turned to give her perplexed looks. She hunched her shoulders almost up to her ears, her cheeks catching fire. "I mean . . . I didn't mean to imply . . . I mean . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words faded from her lips and thankfully, all those eyes moved on from her to return focus to the action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The altercation neared its end, just in time, as Mrs. Drakma was starting to look blue in the face. Valeriana supposed that she'd won. Commander Ikman had stopped shouting back and commenced apologizing. It wasn't instantly apparent, as the volume level remained unaltered, which was to say, deafening. If someone were to excuse themselves to her in such a manner, Valeriana would have preferred that they refrain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The distressed metal under her feet wobbled as the two stragglers made it onto the deck. They'd lifted the anchor – and, quite abruptly, Valeriana's ability to breathe was subsumed by her mounting panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The distance between the ship and the pier grew, past that which she believed herself capable of crossing in a jump. She held fast to the railing, head spinning, knuckles white, reminding herself that it was in and out, flowers and candles, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how likely was it that she'd step off this deck alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand clasped her shoulder, stripping off the meagre degree of self-possession she'd managed to hold on to. She tore herself away with a shriek.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Don't touch me!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good gods." Mrs. Drakma marched in, making a gesture that Valeriana was too out of sorts to grasp the meaning of at the nonplussed Cynihean who'd grabbed her. It was still the same one who had tried to help her up earlier. She shrunk further into herself, while Mrs. Drakma shook her head. "Deeply sorry, she's a work in progress. Not that it excuses a reaction like that, mind you, girl. I know that Barashi makes bogeymen out of anything Cynihe, but this gentleman was hardly going to throw you overboard, or eat you, or whatever nonsense you've been fed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought she would throw </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself </span>
  </em>
  <span>overboard," the Cynihean said, continuing to look bewildered, though now a sentiment easily identified as insulted started to creep into his expression. "She was wheezing like a malfunctioning kettle, I only tried to—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She does that, yes. She'll regret her rudeness once she calms down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I don't! He shouldn't have . . ." Valeriana could feel tears threatening to spill, and it was hard to keep track of the words coming out of her mouth when she needed to focus on holding those back. She'd dream of Ralen again tonight. "I don't, I . . . I don't want strange men to just grab me whenever they feel like it!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The loaded pause that followed her outburst had Mrs. Drakma giving her a look that made her chest grow tight, while the Cynihean mumbled something indiscernible and made himself scarce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well. It appears that I'll have to finish railing on the Commander another time. Let's both of us go below deck. They need to put the cloaking back up, and we'll only get in the way if we stay here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana allowed herself to be guided away, numb on the inside but not so dulled in her thinking that she failed to notice that for once, Mrs. Drakma beckoned her and waited for her to move instead of pushing or pulling her along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was darker than she'd expected, going down. Darker, and emptier. She'd only been on passenger ships before, and the difference was glaring. Very little of what she saw was anything but strictly utilitarian, and there was no decoration to speak of. Since that meant that there wasn't a lot worth looking at, Valeriana kept her eyes on her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma appeared to know the way well enough. Valeriana supposed that she must have been on similar boats before. There was a grim purpose to her as she walked on, pushing doors open on both sides of the gallery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In here.” It was the sixth door the woman tried, but the first compartment she actually entered. Valeriana trailed in after her, scanning her surroundings and discovering them nicer than all else she'd seen of the ship combined. "Captain's cabin. Take a seat, yes, over there, while I look for the wine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana sank down on the chaise in the corner, closing her eyes and sucking in slow breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have liked to remain like that, basking in the illusion that the world lay motionless a long distance away, that she stood on dry land, that she couldn't hear Mrs. Drakma displacing furniture and pulling out drawers. She lacked the energy to sustain the pretense, though, and had to force herself back to reality eventually. She wished that she'd stood up for herself in Tonya's backyard. By now she would have been done with the rain lilies and tackling the ivy that gobbled up the fence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How do you even know that there is wine?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the captain's cabin. Though, you are right, he may have been a whisky type. One should never assume." Valeriana hoped that she wasn't expected to say anything back, as she had no valuable commentary to offer. Mostly she wanted to throw up her hands and declare that she was through with just about everything. Mrs. Drakma. Her organization. Earth as a whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn't. She never went through with saying things like that aloud, irrespective of how intensely she nurtured the urge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bottle, disinterred from the depths of the wardrobe, got waved at her. All she did was stare at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Drakma neglected to remark on her lack of reaction. The woman looked like she had no desire to linger there, hovering by the doorway with her loot in hand, but appeared to be having trouble unloading that which she needed to get off her chest before she left. It took a long, uncomfortable while for words to emerge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana heaved a sigh. She might as well cut to the point herself, so that it was over sooner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> about them being from Cynihe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm. You don't have a problem with Frank."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Frank is mated. Married. And I'm stronger than he is. I'd be able to stop him if he tried anything, while they could break me in half if they wanted to." Furthermore, Valeriana couldn't recall Frank touching her save for a time or two; once to pull her back from getting flattened by a car and once to help her climb into his truck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sucked in a breath, discomfited by the realization that the Cynihean's actions fell under the same umbrella, and that Mrs. Drakma was therefore, much as she loathed to acknowledge it, proven right. In the hindsight afforded by no longer being in the throes of a meltdown, she did regret how she'd reacted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've known Commander Ikman for going on fifty years. He's a gentle soul. I can assure you that if those boys up there have his trust, they won't move a muscle to harm you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gentle? He won't stop shouting! At me, you, everyone!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He has a genuine inability to express himself in any other way. Try not to mind it so much. Your eardrums adjust, after a while." Judging by the shift of Mrs. Drakma's expression from solemn to amused, there was no point in pressing the matter. Having a wealth of other concerns that merited discussion, Valeriana stopped herself from mourning the fact and launched into the next one straight away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You left me alone with them, went off to do – what? – and dropped this on me!" It was inevitable that at some point she make a stand. It might behoove her to do so now, however shaky it landed. Otherwise, she'd slip further and further under the woman's thumb, until there was no room to wiggle out. "I thought that the Liberation Front was just about protecting Earth!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When my sister branched out her operation to Cynihe, it only made sense that I match her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>," here Mrs. Drakma lowered her voice, which Valeriana took as a sign that she was about to hear something likely to induce an existential crisis. "We're overnighting on the ship, as I need to hash out a few things with the Commander. You can stay in here. There's a bed, and you won't be disturbed. Or you could come join us. I'll leave it at your discretion. Either way, you mustn't worry. We're quite safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her safety or lack of it hadn't been Valeriana's point in bringing that up, but since the woman had touched upon it, she was more than willing to have them </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> address that separate but nonetheless critical issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You said that Lady Marabeth might try to sink us</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which is why we're sailing elsewhere."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said you were going to— what were you doing, while you were disappeared?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maz controls the harbor area. I had to ensure that there were no eyes watching that could report back to her. I don't expect her to be paying much attention to the Cynihe gate, what with the seclusion of Barashi upsetting shipments and her being busy replacing a large slice of her staff. Still, it would have been disastrous if someone had tipped her off and caused her to pop over."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But . . . that won't happen. You handled it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile, gleaming and frightening in its unbridled joy, was returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I handled it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I realize what you are trying to do, you know? With this, bringing me here—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course you do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I've been, I believe, extremely upfront about my designs for you. All the strings I'm pulling, I'm pulling in full view. I'd worry about your intelligence if you hadn't noticed me doing it, to be honest." At that, Valeriana could do nothing but gape. She must look absurd doing it, but it was nigh impossible for her to pull her jaw back up in the face of so much . . . what to even call it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outrageous, was what she wanted to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are we doing here?" she asked instead, resigned to getting an answer she'd hate. "Why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>here? What are you planning?" It took effort not to scream the final sentence. The briefest glimpse of Mrs. Drakma's self-congratulatory smile let her know that she shouldn't have bothered.</span>
</p><p><span>"I'm afraid that that's Liberation Front business. Which you have made it clear</span> <span>you wish to have nothing to do with. In fact, I'm surprised — but pleased, nevertheless — that you are showing an interest, as I would </span><em><span>love </span></em><span>to tell you more. However, that would also entail involving you further."</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know what you're doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Valeriana thought at her, furiously, knowing that Mrs. Drakma couldn't read her mind but expecting its contents to be evident from her expression. She knew, and she refused to fall for such a naked, shameless ploy. She didn't need to know. As a matter of fact, she was deciding here and now that she didn't want to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd like to be alone. If that's alright."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Naturally. Now, if you'll excuse me . . . I'm off to collude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana watched the woman leave, bottle in hand and a spring in her step, turning once to wink before the door shut, as though they were both in on some grand, hilariously incomprehensible joke. She stood and paced, wringing her hands to quell the urge to throw something. A chance look through the porthole left her briefly petrified. They'd moved </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> further from the shore in the short time it had taken to get below deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, however, she was quick to get a grip on herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Colluding.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She'd like to believe that Mrs. Drakma had spoken in jest, but it did feel like the most apt descriptor for whatever the woman might be up to at any given time. In addition, Mrs. Drakma struck her, in hindsight, as precisely the kind of person who would have dubious dealings with Cyniheans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was the punishment for that? How complicit had she made herself by standing where she did, for doing as little as addressing them? Had she already earned herself execution, if one tallied her crimes? It seemed like a sick farce that those kept multiplying each time she glanced away. Her whole life she'd tried so hard to be good, toe the line, and now, in the span of a week . . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana buried those thoughts. Lingering on them would only drain her and she felt plenty dead on her feet as was. More than to obsess about what her increasingly suspect benefactor could be up to, she needed rest. Sleep – sleep might get her away from the madness of reality for a little while. She'd take her chances with the nightmares. Those were at least predictable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed in the corner seemed lush and inviting, but something disturbed her about the notion of lying in it. She took one of the pillows, divested it of its cover and retired back to the chaise. It wasn't wide enough to allow her to stretch out, but that was alright. She'd rather curl up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took her a while to nod off, despite her exhaustion. For close to an hour she lay in a borderland state wherein she drifted in and out of wakefulness, easily startled by the smallest sound. There was the swinging of waves, splashing against the porthole once each while, every time causing her to jump. There was an ungodly amount of creaking, filling her with the irrational fear that the ship would come apart. There were voices coming from above, or rather, one voice — Commander Ikman's, and perhaps Mrs. Drakma was right about him not knowing what speaking at a normal volume entailed — and then spots of silence before it sounded again, which she guessed corresponded to interjections from the quieter people he conversed with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurred to her that she might want to pay attention to what was said, but since the thought cropped up as she stood on the verge of seeing the world fade, she didn't get around to doing anything with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana slept fitfully, with frightened faces that mirrored hers swimming behind her eyelids and laughter, high and cold, drowning out screams and pleas. All that considered, she stuck it out a decent amount of time. When she woke, an indeterminate number of hours later, night had fallen outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gnawing in her belly suggested that she was overdue some food. She'd have to go looking for it, which meant leaving the relative safety of the cabin. Not wild about the prospect but recognizing its necessity, she went to the door and cracked it open a fraction. The passageway had its darkness lessened by the orange glow of dispersed crystals, wedged in nooks along the walls. Unpleasant memories surfaced at the sight, but Valeriana supposed she ought to be glad that there was anything to see by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set out. It didn't take long for her to pick up on Mrs. Drakma's blood song coming from further ahead, faded enough to suggest that the woman wouldn't hear her if she called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was in two minds about following it, reasons for and against piling heavy on either side of the scale. In the end, she reminded herself that as infuriating as Mrs. Drakma's general attitude and inability to heed a refusal were, finding her and sticking by her remained less endangering than wandering the dusky corridors. The one thing that scared her more than losing her way was the possibility that she'd run into somebody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next section she entered was better lit. Lamps, not crystals, swung from the ceiling, scattering dancing shadows across the walls as she ambled past. Mrs. Drakma's song sounded close by, though the voices speaking over it came close to smothering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana spied a closed door ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her approaching steps were rendered soundless by the argument going on inside. She'd intended to knock first. If Mrs. Drakma or the commander – his shouting was hard to mistake – missed it, as they likely would with all the noise they made, she'd turn the knob. If the door turned out to be locked, she'd call until there was enough of a lull in their exchange to let her be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her knuckles lingered against the wood. Hesitating, as an idea formed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn't warn them of her presence. Partly because she didn’t wish to interrupt. Partly because . . . no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because it might provide a clearer picture of the network of intrigue she'd landed in the thick of. Because it felt important, vital even, to know how Mrs. Drakma spoke when she didn't know her to be listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped short of pressing her ear to the door, though. That would have been a bridge too far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>" . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>too soon.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We've been through this; let them be weakened before engaging. It's no use moving when they have yet to suffer major losses. Wait. Prepare."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"WE'VE WAITED ALREADY, BRISEIS. WE'VE WAITED LIFETIMES. WE ONLY IMPROVE OUR CHANCES BY FORCING THEM TO SPREAD RESOURCES. THEY CAN'T FIGHT TWO WARS OF THIS SCALE AT ONCE."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You shall be waiting forever if you play your hand this early. Barashi </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have the resources to fight and win a second war, because your people, Ikman, are </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They'll want to trample you fast so that they can focus on the Inocore, and they'll manage it. You are, much as I know that you hate to hear it, ill organized, insufficiently armed and just plain not ready. So I say it again: prepare. Be patient, if only for now. Prepare."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"HOW EASY IT MUST BE FOR YOU, TO SPEAK OF—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brightening of the light shining at her back and the sound of incoming footsteps forced Valeriana away from the door. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, she scurried into the adjoining passageway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dimmer in there, and the path ahead looked darker still. She hesitated minutely before prying a crystal out of its nook. Holding it aloft, she turned the corner and walked on until both the arguing and the stomping of feet resounded far behind. She supposed it safe to halt. She would huddle somewhere and wait for Mrs. Drakma and Commander Ikman to be finished – she'd know they'd arrived at that point once she ceased hearing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, as that might take a while and, in the meantime, she had nothing to do with herself other than be hungry, cold and on edge, Valeriana put her back to the wall and slid down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her arm bumped against something along the way. Shining the crystal over it revealed an iron knocker. Not a wall but a door, then. It wasn't hidden, but in the poor lighting and with it being so wide that it blended into the surroundings, she wouldn't have noticed its presence if she hadn't leaned against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she pressed further, it gave. Unlocked; from the other side, nothing but silence. Gods willing, it would be the kitchen. If not, she'd be less exposed in there than in the passageway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those were her thoughts as she braved inside, pausing by the door arch to check if there was a proper lamp hanging somewhere, as the crystal only let her see so much. No such luck. The next step she took changed her mind on staying in there, too, as there was no insulation to speak of. She could feel invisible fingers of ice gripping her arms and throat, wind blowing in through slits and cracks. She might have been standing outside, for how chilly it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place brimmed with boxes. Sizeable ones. She wondered what—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gulp escaped her in tandem with a shudder as it dawned on her that there was only one thing that they were likely to contain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overcome by an aberrant, floaty detachment, she moved closer to the nearest box and held the crystal over the top portion. Her regret was instant – </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>had she done it, when she'd known? – and the urge to flee tantalizing. Still, she couldn't move. Couldn't look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a face could be made out, through a translucent panel surrounded by what must be breathing holes. Asleep, or dead — no, silly, silly, why would they be dead? Cynihean; although in the orange light it was difficult to see the gray, the size of the containers gave it away. At a rough estimate, there were dozens, perhaps a hundred of them, and more underfoot, given that she could make out stairs descending ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You shouldn't be here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn't find her voice in time to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second glow blooming behind her, as well as the booming steps closing in, had escaped her entirely. She stumbled back, managing to drop the crystal so hard it broke and flinching when her impromptu retreat sent her smack against one of the containers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very much awake Cynihean who’d snuck up on her paused, muttered something indistinguishable and raised both his arms. When that prompted a fearful whimper, he sighed and raised them higher, splaying his fingers. In whatever measure sighs could have a tone, Valeriana recognized his as having a meaning in the vein of '</span>
  <em>
    <span>I'd rather be doing anything but this right now'.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard it at least ten times every time she took Jack shopping. Hearing it here was just shy of reassuring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not armed, see?" The Cynihean waved his arms in demonstration, unaware or tacitly ignoring the fact that hands that large </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>weapons. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you can't be in here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is this?" Valeriana made herself ask. He appeared taken aback by the question, and wasted a second scanning the area where her hand pointed, as though trying to discern whether there was something there other than the container which she was unequivocally motioning at. Once sure that he hadn't missed anything, he returned her stare, brow raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a slaver ship. What did you expect?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well. I mean." There was no answer that wouldn't paint her as an idiot, since he'd made a good point. "But they're your . . . why are you leaving them like this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's three hundred of them, seven of us, and they won't be in great shape after all the time they've spent collared. We'll need to wake them in batches, preferably somewhere safer." There was an unmistakable tension in his voice and stance, further marked when he swept his gaze over his boxed up kinmates. With a shudder, poorly suppressed, he gestured at the exit. "Come away, this place creeps me out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Al . . . alright." Valeriana got the sense that he could scarcely wait to leave. She didn't fault him. Were she in his shoes, seeing herself reflected in those listless faces, she wouldn't wish to linger there either. Darkness, she didn't want to linger there as it was. Even keeping that in mind, she flinched and squeaked when his elbow brushed her arm on the way out. By now, she allowed that it was not a reasonable reaction. "I'm sorry, sorry, that was just . . . reflex."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've grown to expect it, to be honest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>." It struck her that this was the same Cynihean on whose account she'd gone into hysterics earlier. At the time she hadn't taken in details that would have made recognition possible. At a glance, Cyniheans didn't vary noticeably in looks, and when they were all huge and dressed the same, it became harder still to tell them apart. Memorizing subtle differences in bone structure might be the only way to manage. "I am sorry for this afternoon, too. You were . . . trying to be helpful, and I was horribly rude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've calmed down, then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, thank you." Valeriana made as though she didn't notice the sideways glance telling her, in no uncertain terms, how convincing a statement she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> made. By now, he must believe her several types of mentally unbalanced. "I, uhm, I'm also sorry that you had to find me in there. I was looking for the kitchen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's on the other side of the ship. I'll take you there if you want."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>. yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He wouldn't harm her, she assured herself, forcing the primitive, impulse driven parts of her to acknowledge that the manner in which he'd conducted himself so far was the opposite of threatening. Were he not Cynihean and behaving the same way, the possibility of him attacking wouldn't have crossed her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that, she could set some of her wariness aside. Just never all of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Qurion," he said, as though it hit him just then that they hadn't gotten around to introductions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Valeriana. Lazur."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never heard that surname." The way he spoke suggested that it counted as a point in her favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lapsed into silence after that, limiting his interaction to gestures and the occasional look over his shoulder to see whether she was still following. The distance between them remained constant as they moved through the ship. At first Valeriana presumed that he allowed her to lag behind for the sake of her nerves, but the longer she watched him, the more she grew convinced that he didn't want her sticking too close by for the sake of his own peace of mind. She began to wonder if he didn’t keep looking back not to make sure that he hadn't lost her, but to reassure himself of her position; as though it were him who needed to beware of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything about the idea felt laughable, yet she didn't have an easy time shaking it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen, when they reached it, turned out to be noisy and packed. Likely it only seemed to be the latter because it was a small space to begin with. There were only four occupants. One busied himself leafing through a binder, whereas the other three played a game of some sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion grumbled a greeting, which was chorused back without anyone looking up. Valeriana lingered by the entrance, quailing on the inside, wondering if a vague promise of food was worth crossing the threshold and potentially ending up locked in with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kemel, Ione, Vadar—" Valeriana thought at first that Qurion had switched to his own language, but he appeared to still be addressing her. Belatedly, she realized that he was naming the crew. "—and the ugly prick in the corner is Mazet. Avoid him, his personality is even more unpleasant than his face."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why are you bringing that thing in here?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The one called Mazet put the binder down and turned towards her in full, allowing an unimpeded view of his scowl and the accompanying features. Valeriana quickly averted her eyes. A mesh of puckered scars covered him from brow to shoulder, making half of the skin on his face and neck look like a patchwork blanket. Livid, wherever it wasn't a necrotic black. The smile her reaction prompted was as gleeful as it was biting. "Heh, look at her fidgeting. Sensitive little varmint, aren't you? Or is that just the itch to give me some more of these?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When I called you a prick, I wasn't asking you to demonstrate. Leave her be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why? So that she'll like me and therefore, perhaps, if the sky turns sideways, acknowledge my personhood? If she needs me to be pleasant before she gets there, she's already not worth the effort."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Prick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avoid</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Qurion's dry delivery couldn't make it clearer that this was an argument that had been had, and wrongfully believed solved, beforehand. Realizing it didn't diminish Valeriana’s distress. "Is there any dinner left?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Briseis and the Commander took the leftovers. There should be bread somewhere, though," the one introduced as Ione replied. It took looking at her a third time for Valeriana to realize that she was female. In her defense, secondary sex characteristics were virtually nonexistent among Cyniheans, and if she didn't know the significance of the blue markings on the other's forehead, the fact might have continued to elude her. "Do you know if those two are going to take much longer? They've been cooped up together for hours, discussing – what do they even have to discuss that we can’t be there for?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I still posit that they're fucking," Mazet drawled. One of the others – she wasn't clear on which was Kemel and which Vadar – unleashed a disgusted utterance and pelted him with game pieces, presumably as retaliation for forcing that image in their collective heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just came away from there," Qurion retorted, ignoring the bait. "Unless the commander thinks that 'HOW FAR AHEAD ARE THEY GETTING WITH ATOMIC FISSION?' is proper bedroom talk, they're being decent. Would make for a nice change if you could follow their example."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mazet shrugged one shoulder, letting the insult slide off, and returned to his perusal of the binder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I'm hungry after all," Valeriana murmured, edging away from the doorway and keeping her eyes fixed on the oxidation marks on the floor. If the others judged her for being loath to keep their company, she'd rather not face them. "I think I'll just . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was . . . nice to have met all of you. I'm sorry for being a bother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait." Qurion interrupted the long-suffering look he’d been aiming at Mazet and moved in front of a stack of crates. She couldn't tell what he was doing until he turned, holding a cloth napkin tied around a bundle of what appeared to be food. Evidence, unrequested, of her failure to be convincing about her lack of appetite. He thrust it out to her; at arm's length and leaving the knotted end free, so that there was no chance of her hand brushing against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed it from him after a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Th—thank you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It’s nothing. I'll walk you back to your cabin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a spot of silence as they stood facing each other, exchanging cautious stares, trying to determine who should move first. Eventually, and for the best, since he would know the way through the ship better than her, it was Qurion who set out, motioning at her to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana hastened away from the doorway to give him space. As before, Qurion disregarded her presence and didn’t say much while they walked. As before, he ensured he remained four steps ahead of her at all times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It remained unclear on whose behalf the safety distance was maintained. The Cynihean didn’t look any more at ease in her presence than she felt in his. Valeriana suspected that if she were to stumble and crash into him, he'd first jump a foot in the air and only then attempt to break her fall. More or less as she would have done, if their roles were reversed. She couldn’t think of any reason why, taking that into account, he’d wanted to accompany her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was struck by the thought, intrusive, irrational, that he was taking her back to a cabin with a bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had enough self-possession to remind herself that if he wanted to try anything, he'd just as soon have done it when he'd found her. There was no need to stammer an excuse to make herself scarce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lack of a need didn’t stop her, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'll go up to the main deck, if you could tell me how to get there. It's out of the way and I . . . I need air." She hoped she sounded enough like she did to make for a convincing argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion stopped and faced her, eyes inscrutable. With him standing directly under a lamp, she could tell their color beyond 'light'. Cynihean eyes came in two tones: a gray slightly darker than their skin, which disturbed her because at first glance it made it seem like the sockets were empty, or a pale blue a shade off from white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His, thankfully, were the less frightening latter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll show you the way."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'Why'</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Valeriana burned to ask. Since it would have been rude, she made a small, jerky gesture of assent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thank you. And again, for the food." ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>And for stopping Mazet from picking on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ she nearly added. It must have had more to do with a preexisting conflict than Qurion taking exception to the other Cynihean’s unpleasant attitude, but all the same, it had been kind of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the most he said to her until they arrived on the deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under the night sky, bathed in the cool light of the stars, Valeriana felt the same pangs of distress that had rendered her a mess after boarding. The things she'd thought then assailed her again, magnified by everything that had passed since. They were adrift. No land, only dark water for miles and miles without end. What were the odds that she'd–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Calm. Calm. She could – </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to</span>
  </em>
  <span> — get a grip on herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She forced down the urge to scream, breathed in, squared her shoulders and focused on something useful, such as finding a spot protected from the wind where she could have her meal in peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised that Qurion stayed too. Though he didn’t appear to enjoy her company, he seemed to have trouble leaving her. He slouched over the railing, his back to her, while Valeriana unpacked the bundle. It contained half a loaf of bread and a tin of unidentified fish. She ate quickly, eyes darting at her silent companion between bites, assuring herself that he remained where she expected him to be. In the absence of a blood song, letting him out of her sights made it feel as though she were alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I ask a question?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the prolonged period of quiet, hearing the Cynihean speak startled her. He'd been staring at the sky. Valeriana had assumed, hoped, that he'd lost himself in stargazing, but he'd lost himself in thought, and whatever he'd been thinking had compelled him to talk to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should she be worried?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I . . . I suppose?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You keep acting as though you expect me to attack you. Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise Valeriana made was something between whistling and strangled. He waited, expecting her to offer up a better answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stall,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she told herself, and did. Or tried to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what you'd like me to say."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The truth? You're afraid of me. Of us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I .</span>
  </em>
  <span> . ." The trepidation she already brimmed with spiked when Qurion moved away from the railing. She'd made a misstep. He'd asked for the truth and she'd returned a lie so blatant that he would have been unable to believe her even if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was especially obvious because her gut response to him changing his position the smallest amount was to inch back as if a predator had reared its head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You sure about that?" His tone verged on accusing. At least he didn't sound angry. Yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry. Truly." She went on babbling while Qurion sat himself against a container, closer by but respecting the distance they'd implicitly agreed upon. Which made her feel better. Which, on the flipside, made her feel guiltier for how she was acting towards him. Which made her feel worse. There appeared to be no winning. "I just . . . I can't say. Why I'm afraid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile was a twisted echo of the one he'd directed at her on the pier. Looking back and reanalyzing, there'd been a conspiring edge to it then, an assumed camaraderie. It had meant to say something like '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello — these people we work for, mad, aren't they?'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At the time, he must have assumed that she was one of the humans in Mrs. Drakma's employ. Both her allegiance and her species had been clarified to him somewhere down the line, as this new smile of his was still crooked, but caustic rather than warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll guess, then. You're afraid I'll . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>what are the classics again?</span>
  </em>
  <span> . . quarter you and roast you and devour you! Lob off your head and stuff your tentacles down your neck stump! Or fire! – paralyze you and toss you on a pyre, to burn alive without being able to move a muscle. You even made a song revolving around that last one. It's actually catchy." He hummed a few bars, lingering on the notes as though savoring them. Valeriana couldn't make herself think in a straight enough line to place the tune. It was enough of a victory that she refrained from flinching when he stopped humming and regarded her, mouth tilted sardonically. "Did I get all the main ones?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You forgot about . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>uhm</span>
  </em>
  <span>." She dry-swallowed to stop herself from finishing the sentence. Replying while she was keyed up with nervous energy had been a horrible idea. What had she been thinking?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing. She hadn't thought. She'd let the first words that came to her lips fly free, and they'd turned out to be those, and it was too late to take them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rape?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" There went her hopes that she'd silenced herself in time to prevent him from grasping her meaning. Qurion raised his brow, not with outright mocking but something close to it. "No, I think you're getting yourself confused. That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>species, not mine. Which isn’t to say that it's unheard of, but you don't see half the population making a sport out of it the way Tsikalayans do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, you know what else? Would that we could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> as our chief complaint about the monsters you call kin. Compared to the other shit, it often barely registers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>We're not monsters</span>
  </em>
  <span>." The protest slipped off Valeriana's tongue before the voices from deeper down the well of her mind could catch up and issue a reminder that some were</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Some</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Enough to matter. In a very small voice, she added: "I'm not like that. I hope."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not talking about—" He sucked in air and shook his head at himself, like he'd said more than intended, or ventured into waters where he hadn't meant to swim. "This isn't personal. Or — no, I said that wrong. It's painfully personal, but it has nothing to do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> personally. Barashi and Cynihe have four centuries of bad blood between them, and when I say bad blood, what I mean is that your world has been bleeding mine dry. You seem to have a well-developed idea of what to expect from our kind; I gather that you've heard at least a few of the stories they tell about us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have. Are . . . are they made up to make people afraid of you?" she risked, almost hopefully. She would accept an affirmative answer, would believe it unreservedly, because she was afraid despite her best efforts and would rather shed the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To say that she hadn't expected such a reaction would be an understatement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, they aren't. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You wish</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were." The way he looked, as though a fire had sparked in him to, incongruously, darken his mood rather than brighten it, sent a shiver down Valeriana's spine. Thoughts of running jumped back to the forefront of her mind. Him not making any moves that hinted at an intention to get up was all that held her back from bolting. "I don't know them all, of course. Still, I'd say about nine tenths are based on fact. We give you enough material to spin that you aren't left with a lot you need to make up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even the . . ." Valeriana had to stop and realign her thoughts. Her rising understanding of what a surreal conversation they were having had made her mind hit a wall. "You . . . actually eat us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Qurion replied, like they were discussing the price of fish. A closer study of his profile revealed a miniscule uptick of his mouth. "We don't care for how you taste, let me stress that. It's strictly a matter of principle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Utter terror and absolute incomprehension warred within her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What . . . what sort of principle mandates that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat people</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not people to us." He declared it without hate. As though he held it so firmly as a fact that the need to attach emotion had been worn down to nothing. "Did you know that in Cynihe, it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>world that tales of horror are woven around? If you deny us rights, if you treat us like animals, you have no room to complain when we return the favor."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You still don't have to validate a wrongful belief by actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> acting</span>
  </em>
  <span> like animals."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might be the most inadvisable thing to come out of her mouth in all her living years. The tightrope they'd walked since meeting frayed where she sat, moving closer and closer towards a snap. If Qurion were to launch himself at her, she'd cry out and run like blazes, but would not find within herself a reason to reproach him. She shouldn’t have talked back, shouldn’t have tried to argue, should have found some softer way to counter if she truly couldn’t help herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell me." Qurion's voice rang low. It was easy to pinpoint the breaks where it would have turned to shouting had he given it leave to. "When you were standing in the cargo hold </span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> what did you feel? What thoughts went through your head?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought that it was disturbing. And sad." Valeriana ran the words through her head twice before speaking them, failing to find any insult or implication which he might object to. They were the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They also sounded like something the Cynihean would appreciate hearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was wrong on at least one of those accounts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Disturbing. Sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Qurion laughed; a disquieting sound. True, as he laughed some of his menace deserted him, but in the aftermath he looked nothing so much as despairing. Anguished, she might even call it. A mood which Valeriana couldn't decide whether she felt more compelled to run from or try to alleviate, although she doubted that he'd ask her to do the latter. "Another question for you: can you guess why, coming here, we stole a ship from Carcera instead of Briseis' sister?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your commander said it had been a mistake? That you had no way of knowing that it would pose a risk?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Commander isn't an idiot. He's also, let's be fair, a bit of a liar. Carcera uses collars to make us dumb and docile. It's possible to recover if those are removed. Hard and time consuming, but possible. The methods Briseis' sister employs are</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> I've never heard of </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>coming back from what she does. If we'd stolen from her, we'd have a ship full of people to put out of their misery."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushed through the explanation as though it pained him to let it take a blink longer than necessary, leaving Valeriana digesting the beginning long after he was finished speaking. For that, however, he allowed her time. Though she didn't look his way, facing her knees with her hair preventing him from gleaning anything off of her countenance, her unease must be evident in her posture, if not her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep using that word as though any of you know what it means.” Glancing his way as he snapped at her was a mistake. Qurion had his teeth not quite barred, but showing enough that she could tell that they were as sharp as her own when shifted. "Do you know how the luckless down there were picked out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana hoped for the question to be rhetorical, but that didn’t appear to be the case. She would have shrunk back if her limbs had done her the grace of cooperating. Failing that, she had no option but to answer him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's something called a . . . rule of thirds?" The knowledge floated up feathery and almost formless from a Civilization class sat in years ago. It had come up on one of the written tests, she was fairly certain. "They select one child in every three born from a single female or parental unit, once all are above a certain age. Fourteen, I think?" She glanced at Qurion for confirmation and startled at the look he wore. It was awful, though not in a way that made her fear for her own safety. "Is that . . . is it wrong? It's what I learned in school." Probably. It could also be the case that she'd scored poorly on that test.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's correct," he replied, words clipped, voice distorted. "But who do you mean by '</span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span>'?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>? The Ancillary Council of Cynihe, or . . . I apologize, I'm not good with knowing which part of the government is in charge of what."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion shook his head, though since she was avoiding meeting his eye, Valeriana only realized it two sentences after the fact. She fell silent, waiting. He wore the expression of someone wholly absorbed with sorting through words to find the right ones, and she didn't want to disturb him. Not even to apologize; not when he seemed to take the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ as a taunt. Something that left her at a loss, since it was by far the most used one from her personal dictionary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, you see, that would be just run-of-the-mill cruel. Say what you will about Tsikalayans, you have a knack for taking everything to the next level. What you do is leave it up to the parents to decide which of the sons and daughters they've loved and raised gets to have their brain fried into compliance. Two years into adulthood and you have yet to yield offspring? Circumvent the rules by having only one or two within ten years? That's everyone involved taken away on a one way trip to Barashi."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sad? Disturbing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Valeriana couldn't tell if Qurion's tone was deriding her or attempting to make light of things. If the latter, it didn't work. The smile he tried to fasten in place kept sliding off. "Most adults </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>prefer to stay childless and unattached and reap the consequences. Better to live as a mindless tool than live with yourself after you've made a choice like that, understand? But, sure, the fact that we eat you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's </span>
  </em>
  <span>what sticks out as beastly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just . . . I didn't mean it like . . ." Her awareness of how absurd it was to have this conversation with him </span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> with anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> bobbed back up. Valeriana shoved it down with a vengeance. "I'm sorry. I know that saying it doesn't make anything better, but I am. Truly. You're right, it is . . . it is cruel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, managing to appear at once irritated and irate. Though the latter sentiment ought to have overpowered the former and rendered it obsolete, Valeriana could still distinguish them. The irritation was targeted at her. The ire was not, radiating from him and lingering around without aim. Or perhaps just aiming at everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's unreal, you realize, that I have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>explain</span>
  </em>
  <span> these things and then see you looking back like a child who just learned where the roast on the table came from. I'm almost afraid to ask, but is this level of ignorance normal? I never got the impression that your kind feels ashamed of what you do, so why hide it from your own?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not that it’s hidden, I knew, I'd just never... thought." She'd always been so much more concerned with what others thought of her. Busy worrying about her own future — Jack's, too, although that often felt like pouring milk in a can with a hole at the bottom </span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of the present of those around her. Slaves had been blips in her inner landscape, their plight never contemplated. "I know that it makes me sound immensely uncaring, or stupid</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion didn’t agree aloud, but neither did he hasten to assure her otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>and I won't say another word about. Er."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She resorted to making fluttery hand motions at the empty fish tin, since she had, after all, just promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a slow blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"... no. First explain why </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you got stuck on. You just brought it up again to specify that you wouldn't be bringing it up again. My gut tells me I shouldn’t want to know, but I can’t help myself. What is it about this particular way of disposal that’s ruffling your feathers so much?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh. Well." '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Because yuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>' would not, Valeriana knew, be deemed acceptable. "To a Tsikalayan, consuming anything capable of speech is considered . . . well, it's not serious on the level of a blood crime, but much worse, more of a disrespect, than simply leaving a body unburnt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qurion scoffed, but without venom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That so? Thank you for telling me this. I had no idea that there were cultural hang-ups attached."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that not why it's done? I mean, it's disgusting. Why else do it, if not for knowing that it bothers us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For some of us, it's the only meat we get to taste our whole lives." There'd been something almost like levity in how they regarded each other, for a few moments, before his reply chased it away and his shoulders stiffened once more. "There's not a lot of food to go around on Cynihe, you realiz</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>well, if you weren’t paying attention to all the rest, I expect that you wouldn't realize."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But . . ." Despite knowing herself far from well-educated on such matters, Valeriana had an awareness of Cynihe figuring among the worlds which Barashi used as breadbaskets. "A lot of our food comes from there, so . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Surprisingly, the conclusion you just drew is the wrong one. You’d think we’d be starving as a logical consequence of you depleting our resources, yes? But no, it’s the other way around. You deplete our resources and restrict our access to food with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>intended effect</span>
  </em>
  <span> that we starve. It's a tightly controlled process. After all, we’re not wanted dead, only too weak to pose a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now try telling me again that you're not monsters, and that I'm wrong in looking forward to the day your world burns." He'd managed to get a smile to stick. It came with a bitter, glass sharp edge. Valeriana was positive that his face didn't shake it off as it had the others because it more resembled a dead rictus. "Most of us that your kind takes need to be fattened up a month or two before sale, so that they don't appear too scrawny on the auction block. I suppose that's one thing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>chosen</span>
  </em>
  <span> take out of it. They lose themselves, but at least for once in their life they get to gorge</span>
  <em>
    <span>— </span>
  </em>
  <span>you're shaking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am?" she echoed, a little bewildered. It wasn’t that she hadn’t realized, but to her mind she didn't shake any more noticeably than she'd been during the entire course of their exchange. Certainly not so much more as to make it worth bringing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> are, and it beats me why. After all I’ve told you, I'd think you’d recognize that if anyone here has a reason to be trembling in the other's presence, it's me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A peal of laughter bubbled out of her before she could help herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well. I'm very harmless, really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hrm." He eyed her as though he questioned the claim, which was such a peculiar response that Valeriana was left eyeing him back, a flush creeping up her neck. If his examination yielded conclusions, he elected not to share them. Gruffly, he added: "You can relax. As long as you forego strangling me or collaring me and hanging a sales sign around my neck, I won't feel even the slightest itch to take a nip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't do that, I</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>I wouldn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then we have no quarrel, and neither of us suffers whichever ghastly fate. See? It's this easy. We are a simple people to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be at war with, believe it or not. Don't invade us and take our home from us, and we won't retaliate by baking you into pies." A pause. “That’s in a manner of speaking. Though I can’t say for sure if we wouldn’t go there if there was enough flour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana didn’t think that Qurion meant for her to be put so at ease that she should crack a smile at that, and therefore didn't risk it. She did relax, not all the way, but enough that some tension vanished from his shoulders in response. She wondered if she had, all along, been unwittingly infecting him with her anxiety. If they would, from here on out, be on better terms than cordiality with a faint tang of stalemate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt divided on whether to hope for that, when there remained one question she needed answered before she gave herself permission to ease up around him. Daring to ask it was already a step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said that it's not personal, as far as I'm concerned. I'd just like to know . . . I mean, I believe that you won't try to kill me." A wash of embarrassed, fire red warmth spread from her neck to her cheeks when Qurion made a face that couldn't telegraph </span>
  <em>
    <span>'finally!</span>
  </em>
  <span>' more clearly or wearily. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Would you like to see me dead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whistled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's </span>
  </em>
  <span>a question. I don't know. I don't know you. I know that Briseis vouched for you, and that's enough for me to give you the benefit of the doubt, for now." He fell silent while she tried to make heads or tails of her feelings on that answer, but picked back up before she could sort herself out. "The others . . . may or may not be of the same mind. Which is why I wanted you away from that kitchen, earlier."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would they have . . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Insulted you, at most. But they're good at insulting and you appear sensitive."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana felt inclined to take offense at his assessment, but then she’d be proving it correct. Because it was correct, unfortunately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You like Mrs. Drakma, though. Or at least you trust her enough to extend me a bit of goodwill because she said you could." Qurion frowned, trying to discern what she meant to get at. She chanced a smile, sheepish and hopefully reassuring: "I'm just thinking aloud. Trying to guess what the criteria are for being a Tsikalayan that you don't mind the existence of."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could simply ask,” he scoffed. “Briseis has been a friend to Cynihe for longer than your kind has ruled there. She aided us in the war that lost us our world, and in every uprising since. That's my benchmark. I'd see every Tsikalayan dead . . . save for those who stand with us instead of trampling us. Not that I think highly of those who sit idly by, either."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm . . . that, I'm afraid." It was bizarre, insane and decidedly inadvisable that she argue for her removal from the list of those he deemed underserving of death, but Valeriana was too put off by the notion of figuring on it unfairly. "I don't work for Mrs. Drakma. Or with her. I'm not a part of her organization, she's just helping me until, well . . . and she must have told you she's trying to get me to join, but I</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why does she have to try to convince you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Realization struck her like a lightning bolt. It was suddenly so obvious. She felt like a fool for not considering the possibility first of all, when it had been so evident from Qurion’s demeanor that he deplored her company. She should have suspected immediately that he only kept it because he’d been told to. “She put you up to this, didn’t she? Told you to tell me about these things to make me</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does it matter, if you needed to hear them? If you have the slightest speck of decency within you, if you don't like what you've been shown about the way things are, then don't look away. Listen to Briseis. She’s offering you a chance to be less like the rest of you, to make a</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mislike being manipulated.” There was this to be said about her family, about anyone who’d ever wanted anything from her: they’d never resorted to subterfuge. They came in and took, or they ordered her around point blank, wasting no time or effort on games. Mrs. Drakma, on the other hand, was ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>heed my exact words, on which you’ll slip</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ tossed in with ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>read between the lines and also this fine print down here, but only when I say you ought to’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It felt jarring, especially because she did believe that the woman’s desire to help her was genuine. “She's so . . . so scheming, but then she'll be forward about the scheming, and I'm hopeless at making sense of her. I see a lot of things differently than I did last week, but I don't see the things she claims to see in me. If I joined her, I’d be—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’d be betraying my world and my people</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ was how the sentence ought to have concluded, but didn’t. Didn’t, because in the end Qurion had said enough, shaken her enough to strip the argument of power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be useless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>That's</span>
  </em>
  <span> your reason?" Valeriana wished he’d stop giving her that look of bereft, strained patience that suggested he viewed her as analogous to a toddler who refused to be dissuaded from eating chalk sticks. An impression all but confirmed when he went on. "It's a dumb reason. However little you manage to get done, it's better than doing nothing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>already got one girl killed." A fact that no amount of consoling words from Mrs. Drakma would change, and placing the blame at Lady Marabeth's feet would not absolve her from. Not when every night she smelled a bonfire. Not when all the parts of her that hated her and were forever looking for reasons to do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span> kept her from leaving that day behind. "That was how this started </span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> I still see her in my nightmares. She won't stop asking me for help, but I couldn't help her then, and there's nothing I can do for her now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because . . . she's dead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and looked up. At the stars, again, or something to her unseen. It took a while for him to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's much you can do for the dead. In Cynihe, we don't believe we'll wander the Great Black after we’re through with this life. We live on in every deed that those we've touched carry out in our name. It being so, it’s our duty to ensure that the ones who have left us live on in deeds they’d take pride in. But</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Here his eyes found hers, the way they glinted causing them to appear as unsettling as their gray counterparts, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>you understand that much, or something along the same lines, already. You wouldn’t have a dead girl begging for your help unless you knew, buried down deep, that there’s a way to make it matter that she once walked this world. You wouldn’t be haunted if you didn’t realize that you are failing her. So why do you persist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana dropped her head in her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twice before she’d had it happen. Twice she’d been assailed by that clear as water, terrible sureness that placed her outside herself, erecting a fortress of ice spires inside her head and burning, in swiping red streaks going straight ahead, the One True Road to Follow. Twice she’d allowed that feeling to command her, rule her, and both times a dead body had been the net result.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not knowing what to do wasn't the problem. The problem was knowing what the most likely outcome of her actions would end up being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She badly didn’t want the next body to be hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm afraid," she replied, instead of sharing all of that. "So, so afraid. I don't think</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>I'm a coward. I suppose that's what's at the heart of it. I'm a coward."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Qurion sounded almost kind. A fact he seemed taken aback, even embarrassed by, once he realized it. Valeriana wasn’t sure if Cyniheans had the ability to blush, but the darkening of his cheeks suggested so. "I know next to nothing about you, but I say you aren't that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been terrified witless the whole time I've sat here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet, here you sit.” He cleared his throat and went on, sterner, as though trying to make up for slipping. “You owe this dead girl a debt for making your eyes come open. The belief that you'll do better by doing nothing? That's poison. Spit it out, bleed it out, however you do, get rid of it. It serves neither you nor her memory."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not certain I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be useless, and no better than the rest of your kind, and your dead girl will cry in your dreams until you stop caring that she does. And when that happens, you will deserve death.” After all else he had said, the words hit her like a physical blow. Qurion took a deep breath and stood, facing away while pausing to crack his joints. “I’ll let you finish getting your air in peace. Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I</span>
  <em>
    <span>— </span>
  </em>
  <span>goodnight to you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valeriana watched his retreat through her hands, with her fingertips pressed against her forehead and her palms growing increasingly wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew what she’d dream of once she allowed her eyes to close. It might even become the only thing she dreamt of tonight, looping until she woke, that one order, plea, request </span>
  <em>
    <span>— help, help, help — </span>
  </em>
  <span>repeated </span>
  <span>endlessly, burrowing into her like a worm through a rotten piece of fruit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem, in the end, was that she’d been left with no one to tell her what to do other than herself and the voices she made up, and a lifelong habit of doing as she was told.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d have to</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>She’d have to go back to the Mayfly.</span> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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